Out In the Open
by little0bird
Summary: Dudley Dursley has kept many things a secret from his family and everyone around him.  But no longer.
1. Out In the Open

Dudley walked into Clayhall Park, checking to ensure the notes he took with him were securely pinned to one pocket of his shorts, and the key to his flat pinned to the other. He began to jog a route around a particular football pitch. A group of men had been playing a weekly game of footie there for the past several months and one in particular stood out to Dudley. He was tall, nearly as tall as Dudley himself, lanky to the point of being thin, with dark, thick hair that looked as if it was curly if allowed to grow beyond its close-cropped style. Dudley didn't know anything about the man other than the fact he played as if his life depended on it. Dudley kept half his attention on the game, trying to not look as if he was following the actions of the lithe figure playing goalie that captured his attention so fully. He doggedly continued to run, until he had nearly completed his thrice-weekly circuit of six miles, resolutely turning his focus away from the football match when he could feel his pace slowing to a near-walk. Consequently, it came as total surprise when the very person who haunted his thoughts careened off the pitch after the stray football.

Dudley attempted to dodge the man, but he only succeeded in skidding into the man. Unthinkingly, Dudley wrapped his arms around his erstwhile victim, twisting so he himself took the brunt of the fall, tweaking his ankle in the process. 'Sorry,' Dudley gasped, wheezing only a little. 'Didn't see you…'

'Don't be sorry. I ran straight into your path. The fault's entirely mine.'

Dudley was sure managed to mumble something in return, but he was staring at the man's full lower lip, surrounded by the day's bristly growth of beard. He wondered what it might feel like, heat pooling in his belly, as he it slowly dawned on him that he still had his arms around the man and flushed painfully. 'Blimey…' Dudley sat up, dislodging the man and jumped to his feet, wincing as his weight landed on the ankle he'd injured in the fall. 'Oh, bloody hell, that hurts…' he groaned, pulling his left foot off the ground.

'Let me call you a taxi,' the man said, starting for a stack of bags sitting to the side of the pitch.

'No, it's fine,' Dudley protested. 'It's just been twisted. I can walk it off.' He took a few experimental steps away, but was limping badly.

'Oi! Aaron! Are you playin' or not?' a player called from the pitch.

Aaron tossed the football from hand to hand, considering. He threw it to the other man. 'Not!' Aaron replied, darting to grab his bag and he returned to Dudley. 'At least let me buy you a cup of coffee and find some ice for that ankle,' he offered.

Dudley wiped the sweat from his face. 'Okay,' he said nonchalantly. Inside, he was nearly jumping with glee. He wasn't prepared for Aaron's arm around his waist. Aaron grinned at him.

'I know this great place on Longwood Gardens. We – the other blokes and I – go there after our game. Carrie, the lady that runs it, is used to us or the rugby boys coming in with scrapes and strains. She keeps a first aid kit behind the counter. Maybe she'll have an elastic bandage in there. Or we can send for one,' Aaron chattered, keeping up a steady stream of conversation. 'By the way, I'm Aaron,' he said. 'Rather belated, considering I've caused you an injury.'

'Dudley.'

'You run here a lot?'

'Every other day.' Dudley grimaced as his injured ankle twinged. 'Six miles a day.'

Aaron whistled in appreciation. 'That's dedication.'

Dudley gulped. 'Something like that.' It was far more than mere dedication. It kept all his fears at bay. 'You really don't have to keep supporting me…'

Aaron flashed him a brilliant smile. 'It's fine.' Aaron had noticed Dudley running around the pitch during his weekly football game with some of his school friends. Dudley had yet to miss a Sunday afternoon, even though Aaron and his friends often decamped to their favorite café when the weather was inclement. He was hard to miss. Dudley was just big. There was no other way to put it. He wasn't fat, or overly muscled, just fit. Aaron wondered if Dudley actually liked football, or if he had other reasons for choosing that particular pitch.

They managed to hobble to the crowded café Aaron indicated and he deposited Dudley into a chair at an empty table and disappeared inside. Dudley stretched out his ankle, peeling the top of his sock back to examine the extent of the injury. It didn't look terribly serious. It was only a little puffy and he could point his toes with minimal pain. Aaron returned, leading a grandmotherly woman holding a plastic bag full of ice in one hand and a drab green first aid kit in the other. 'Put your foot up here, luv, and let's have a look at it, shall we?' she told Dudley, patting her lap. Reluctantly, Dudley complied, and she gently worked his trainer off. She prodded it a little, then unzipped the first aid kit and pulled out an elastic bandage.

Aaron nudged Dudley. 'What're you having?'

'Coffee. Decaf…'

'Milk, sugar?'

'Black.'

Aaron mock shuddered. 'That's vile.'

'Acquired taste.' Dudley felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. 'And some water, too.' He had long ago ceased to add milk and sugar to his coffee or tea. He still had a photograph of himself before he started Fourth Form. He never wanted to be that person again. So he strictly regimented what he ate and exercised six days a week.

'Ought to have that ankle looked at by a doctor, luv,' Carrie told him, carefully wrapping the bag of ice in a clean towel, then set it over Dudley's ankle.

'If it's not better in the morning,' he promised.

Aaron once more circled back to the table, bearing two cups of steaming coffee and a bottle of water, tucked under one arm. 'Thanks, Carrie,' he said.

'Not a problem at all.' She gave Dudley's ankle a final pat and cradled it in her hands as she stood and set it down in the seat of the chair she vacated, then bustled back into the recesses of the café.

'So…' Aaron handed Dudley a mug. 'Dudley. Where are you from?'

'Little Whinging in Surrey. I live here in Barkingside. A flat that barely qualifies as a flat.' He sipped his coffee. 'You?'

'Grew up in London. And like you, I live here in Barkingside. I'm a solicitor. Mostly human-rights issues.'

Dudley looked down at his cup. 'I teach,' he muttered.

'You do? That's brilliant!' Aaron leaned forward. 'What do you teach?'

'Maths. Year Three. At Parkhill Junior School.' Dudley felt utterly tongue-tied and far out of his league.

'Are you seeing anyone?'

'At the moment? No.' It had been months since his last date.

'Would you like to have dinner this weekend? With me?' Aaron leaned back in his chair, sipping his coffee.

Dudley's eyes widened, his cup suspended halfway to his mouth. 'What?'

'Oh God. You're not gay,' Aaron whispered, stricken. 'I'm terribly sorry. It's just I've seen you watching the footie, and well, I could see you watching… me… I _thought_ I saw you watching me…'

'Oh, no. I am. And I was…' Dudley took a sip of his coffee to hide his confusion. 'I was just a little surprised, that's all…'

'Why?'

'I don't get asked out very often,' Dudley stammered. 'Well, I don't go out much, either…'

Aaron chuckled. 'Got your mobile?'

'No.'

Aaron sobered. 'Are you mad? Going out jogging without your mobile? What if you got hurt, and nobody was around to rescue you?' Aaron shook his head. He hailed a passing waiter. 'Let me use your pen, eh?' Taking the pen from the waiter, Aaron jotted his mobile number on a paper napkin and pushed it toward Dudley, then took out his mobile. 'What's your number?' Startled, Dudley gave it to Aaron. 'I'll give you a ring, then. You like chicken?'

'I like chicken.'

'Great. I'll make dinner Saturday night.' Aaron sat back in the small chair. 'Now then. If you won't let me get a taxi for you, maybe you'll share one with me?'

Dudley began to protest, then acquiesced. It was a long walk back to his flat. 'All right.'

Aaron grinned, seemingly pleased. 'And I'll ring you tomorrow.'

xxxxxx

Aaron slid a pile of paperwork into the dark brown leather briefcase while he juggled with his mobile. He scrolled through the numbers in his contacts list and pressed the button to ring Dudley. 'Hello?' Dudley's voice sounded muzzy.

'How's the ankle?'

'Who is this?'

Aaron lifted the strap over his shoulder. 'Aaron. Bernstein. You ran over me in Clayhall Park yesterday.'

'You rang…' Dudley couldn't hide the awe coloring his voice.

Aaron strode toward the lift. 'Of course I did. I said I would.' He nodded to a colleague in greeting and continued, 'How's the ankle?'

Dudley grimaced and held up his well-wrapped ankle. 'Horrible. I woke up this morning, and it was the size of a bloody grapefruit. And blue.'

'That doesn't sound good.'

'Bad sprain. Told me to stay off it of it as much as I can and keep it wrapped. Gave me a set of crutches,' Dudley told him. 'It'll take a couple of weeks to heal, so no running for now,' he sighed.

'Do you need anything?'

'I'm fine.'

'Can you stand company?' The silence spooled between them.

'Why?' Dudley blurted.

'Because I'd like to see you,' Aaron prodded.

'Oh. Erm. All right…' Dudley's throat tightened. 'Do you remember the address?'

'Yeah. I'm close to the City, so it'll be a few before I can get there.'

Dudley wildly glanced around the flat. It was, as usual, almost self-consciously clean, save for the trainers he'd dropped at the door last night. 'Brilliant.'

Aaron could practically feel apprehension coming in waves through his mobile. 'Relax, eh? Even if it was strewn with papers to grade, I wouldn't care. I'm coming to see you, not your flat.' Dudley's palpable unease gave Aaron pause. 'Unless you don't want me to drop by for a bit?'

'No. I mean, yes. I mean… it would be nice to see you.'

'Give me an hour.' Aaron disconnected the call and slid his mobile into the pocket of his trousers as he ran down the stairs to the Underground station. Dudley seemed to be a bundle of contradictions. Seemingly comfortable with himself, yet at the same time terrified to be himself. He shrugged as the doors of his train parted and he slipped inside, finding an empty seat.

Trained by his mother to never show up empty-handed, Aaron stopped at his favorite greengrocer's stall and stood examining the piles of fruit, hesitating because he had no idea if Dudley was allergic to anything. He hovered between the oranges and grapes, then finally left with a brown paper bag with oranges, red grapes, and strawberries. Aaron veered into a small corner shop. He had a weakness for chocolate, and if Dudley didn't care for the fruit, he could content himself with the chocolate.

The buzzer jerked Dudley from the magazine he kept trying to read, but repeated glances at the door made him lose his place more often than not. He awkwardly pulled himself to his feet and used the crutches to hobble to the door. He could feel his ears flush when the widening gap of the open door revealed Aaron standing on his doormat. 'Hi,' he said, wincing at the breathless sound of his own voice.

'I'm really sorry,' Aaron said without preamble, as he held out the paper bag.

Leaning on the crutches, Dudley inched back and took the bag, peering inside. 'I love strawberries,' he murmured.

'Who doesn't?' Aaron said cheekily.

Dudley held up the bag of fruit. 'Could you take it to the kitchen? I haven't quite figured out how to carry anything and walk at the same time.'

Aaron slapped himself on the forehead. 'Of course. I wasn't thinking.'

'It's just through there,' Dudley directed, pointing at a swinging door. He maneuvered himself back to the sofa, easing his foot onto a cushion. The sounds of cupboard doors opening and closing were followed by more sounds of rushing water. Aaron presently returned with a plate piled with grapes and strawberries, and a bar of chocolate in his other hand, taking the place on the sofa next to Dudley. He held out the plate with a disarming smile. Dudley's fingers hovered over the dewy strawberries. He selected one and bit into the juicy flesh with a soft hum of pleasure. It was perfect. 'Thank you,' he said, using a thumb to swipe a drop of juice from the corner of his mouth. 'You're going to let me eat this alone?'

'Nope.' Aaron peeled back the wrapper of the chocolate and broke off a piece, offering it to Dudley. Dudley inhaled sharply, but shook his head. 'Don't like it? Everyone likes chocolate.'

'No. I love chocolate,' Dudley said longingly. 'But I…' His voice trailed off as he looked at the small square of chocolate held invitingly under his nose. 'I suppose just one won't hurt…' He gave Aaron a severe look. 'Just one.' He accepted the chocolate and popped it into his mouth, letting it melt creamily on his tongue. Once it was just a lingering memory, he hastily reached for a cluster of grapes. 'Does this qualify as a date?' he wondered aloud, only half-joking.

'If you want it to,' Aaron chuckled. He settled into the cushions of the sofa. 'So… Brothers? Sisters?'

'Only child. You?' Dudley studied the grapes. Even they were the perfect balance of sweet tartness. _How does he __**do**__ that?_

'One brother. Daniel. We don't talk.'

'Oh?'

'He's older than me. Six years older. And Daniel's never on time to anything. He's always disgustingly early. He had come for dinner one night, and showed up more than an hour before, catching me snogging furiously with Jack Baines from school. More than snogging, really. Jack's hand was in my trousers…' Aaron coughed lightly, a rosy flush brightening his cheeks. 'Jack and I were sixteen. Daniel and I had a terrible row that culminated in his declaring me dead. He'll talk to my parents, but not me. I see Mum and Dad when Daniel's not expected.'

'Did they know about you?' Dudley asked.

'Yeah. Mum just wanted to know if I'd ever give her grandchildren, and Dad asked if I could still be a solicitor. I was lucky. I have a few friends whose parents didn't take it very well.'

'I can imagine.' Dudley bent his head over his grapes. He didn't need to use his imagination. He could hear his mother's protestations if he ever found the courage to tell them. 'Stuart Menzies,' he said suddenly.

'And?'

'My first kiss,' Dudley said shyly, remembering the feeling of light that surged through him at the touch of Stuart's mouth on his. 'At school at the end of Lower Sixth. I wasn't sure I was coming back for Upper Sixth.'

'Why?'

'Surprisingly, it wasn't due to my academic performance,' Dudley informed Aaron wryly. 'I didn't do very well my first couple of years. No, it was because my parents and I had to go abroad.'

'Why?'

Dudley's jaw worked for a moment. He hated to lie to someone as nice as Aaron seemed to be. 'Business,' he said shortly. 'They arranged for me to complete that year through correspondence.' Actually, it had been Harry's people that had done that. His schoolwork had mysteriously appeared in the house where he and his parents were hiding, and just as mysteriously, it was whisked away to be marked and returned with astonished remarks at the quality of the work. Dudley didn't have anything else to distract him during those months, so he was able to focus wholly on his studies. The witch and wizard were helpful when it came to literature and history, partially so with biology, and useless with trigonometry. Dudley managed to muddle through the trigonometry, which was mostly logic, without too many nights of frustration.

'Who are they in those photos?'

Dudley shook himself and followed Aaron's gaze to the collection of photographs on the small mantle of his fireplace. 'My cousin, Harry, and his wife. Their boys.' Aaron wandered to the mantle and picked one up, handing it to Dudley, who took it, touching each figure with a blunt forefinger. 'Harry. Ginny. They were married, oh, eight years ago. Their oldest son, James, and the youngest Al. Well, not for long.' Dudley's finger traced the visible curvature of Ginny's abdomen. 'She's due in early August. A girl to be named Lily.' Dudley's head tilted to the side. 'And their last, if Ginny has anything to say about it,' he added wistfully.

'You want all that? Babies and marriage?'

Dudley carefully set the photograph down. 'My aunt used to say people in Hell wanted ice water. I might want it, but it's probably best if I don't get it.' He left the idea that he was hardly qualified to be someone's partner, given the example he had growing up.

They talked into the evening, until Dudley's speech was punctuated by yawns. Aaron squinted at his watch, feeling a start of guilt. 'I really will owe you a rather large apology, won't I? First I incapacitate you, then keep you up late. I imagine you've got an early start tomorrow.'

Dudley stifled a yawn and shook his head. 'Spring term just ended. Summer term doesn't start until the end of the month.'

'Changed my mind. I've got excellent timing.' Aaron grinned in smug satisfaction. 'But I ought to get home myself.'

'I had a nice time,' Dudley said. And he meant it.

'Dinner. Saturday. My place. Seven o'clock. And I'll ring you tomorrow.'

'All right.' Dudley couldn't help the wide smile from blossoming over his face. Nor the look of absolute shock that followed when Aaron leaned over and brushed a soft kiss over his cheek. Dudley's hand flew up to touch the spot that tingled from the contact.

'I'll see myself out.' Aaron slid off the sofa. 'G'night.'

'Good night.' Dudley watched Aaron leave the flat, a dazed expression on his features. He hoped he didn't look like a flummoxed idiot.

xxxxxx

Petunia peered through the curtains. 'Vernon, someone's arrived in a taxi.' She glanced at him sharply. 'Were you expecting anyone?'

'No, I wasn't.'

Petunia parted the curtains and shrieked. 'Oh my! My Dinky Diddidums!'

Dudley maneuvered from the back of the taxi, using his pair of crutches to leverage himself to a standing position. Normally, he would have used his car, but it had a manual transmission, and he couldn't use his left foot to operate the vehicle.

'Dudley! What happened?' Petunia demanded.

'I tripped, Mum,' Dudley said patiently. He allowed her to fuss over him, while she shed a few tears, nearly wailing over what was in reality a relatively minor injury.

'That flat of yours is a deathtrap,' Vernon rumbled.

Dudley lowered himself to a chair. 'It wasn't in the flat. It was while I was out.' He didn't know why he came to dinner once a week. It was exhausting. Between his mother's histrionics and his father's bombastic pronouncements, Dudley usually went home with a pounding headache. Petunia still insisted, even after more than ten years, on filling Dudley's plate with far more food than he wanted to eat, lamenting over how thin he was. Dudley also tended to go home with a roiling stomach, as well. Tonight would be no different. 'Let's just eat dinner, all right?'

'So how's your life, Son?' Vernon asked. 'Beating off the girls, eh? Eh?'

Dudley sighed. 'Not quite…'

'Still wasting your time at that school?' Vernon barked.

A nascent headache bloomed behind Dudley's right eye. 'It's not a waste of my time, Dad.' He massaged the bridge of his nose. 'I'm good at it. And I also enjoy it.' An overflowing plate appeared in front of him. Nausea rose in his throat. 'Mum, please, that's too much,' he began.

'You need to eat and keep up your strength,' Petunia quavered. 'You've been injured.'

Dudley bit back the retort that surged to his lips. _Just do what all the girls at uni did… Move the food around your plate…_

The only thing that kept him from throwing his mushy peas at Petunia and the jacket potato at Vernon was the knowledge that at this time tomorrow, he would be with Aaron.

xxxxxx

Dudley nervously adjusted his tie and carefully hitched himself up the steps to Aaron's door. He had a small carrier bag looped over his wrist, containing a bottle of wine one of his co-workers had recommended. The door opened before he could knock, and Aaron stood just inside, framed by light. 'I hope you're hungry. I seem to have channeled my mum while I was cooking.'

'What do you mean?' Dudley offered the wine to Aaron he'd brought with him.

'The Jewish mother school of cooking – better to have too much than not enough.' Aaron stood back. 'Come in.' Dudley followed Aaron inside the small house, nose twitching at the scent of roasted chicken. 'Kitchen's this way.'

Dudley stopped and peered at two framed documents hanging on the wall. _Oh God… Cambridge… And Inns of Court School of Law… What in the hell is he doing with me?_

'Oh, don't look at those… They make me look like some sort of snobbish ponce.' Aaron tugged at Dudley's arm. 'Come on. Dinner's nearly ready.' Dudley gulped and trailed after Aaron into the kitchen. 'Sit yourself down, then,' Aaron ordered.

'Your house seems nice,' Dudley offered. 'Like you could someday…' He looked down at the plate, embarrassed.

'Breast, thigh?' Aaron asked, a carving knife poised over a chicken.

'Thigh,' Dudley murmured.

'You were saying?'

Dudley felt a familiar flush prickle over his face. 'Like you could have a family here.' He seemed to say the silliest things around Aaron.

Aaron set a piece of chicken on Dudley's plate. 'You're the first person I've had here that isn't a platonic friend who's said that.' He passed the plate to Dudley. 'Help yourself,' he said, gesturing toward the rest of the table. 'And maybe someday, I'll meet the right bloke, settle down, and have a few sprogs.'

Dudley jabbed at a stalk of asparagus. 'That doesn't mean you're going to be happy,' he said, cutting himself off before he could reveal any of his skeletons. 'I just mean that lots of people get married, thinking it's going to make them happy.' He pictured his parents. 'And they're not.'

'And sometimes, they are,' Aaron countered.

It was a statement for which Dudley had no argument. He knew such things existed. He saw it in the photographs Harry sent him. Harry looked happy. He deserved it, after everything he'd been through. But it was for other people. Not him.

At the end of dinner, Aaron produced a fragrant apple strudel, making Dudley want to swoon. 'Are you trying to kill me?' he said woefully.

'It's my mum's recipe,' Aaron said proudly. He held a knife over the pastry, glittering with sugar.

'That's too much,' Dudley protested. Frowning, Aaron moved the knife down. 'Smaller.' Aaron brought the knife down and sliced off a mere sliver of the pudding, oozing with succulent apples and redolent of cinnamon. Dudley waved away the proffered cream and picked up his fork. He closed his eyes in appreciation, inhaling the scent of baked apples. He forked a bite into his mouth and his eyes rolled back in his head. 'Oh. Oh my God…' he moaned. 'Mmmmmmm.'

Aaron stared at him, open-mouthed. 'Bloody hell, don't do that,' he ordered. 'You won't make it home until much later.'

Dudley's eyes popped open. 'Is that a promise?' he teased.

'Damn right it is.'

xxxxxx

Greedy hands loosened the knot of Dudley's tie, then flattened over the planes of his chest. The bristles of Aaron's growth of beard scraped softly over his face. His body tingled but he needed to stop. He couldn't stand going on and letting Aaron think he was someone he wasn't. 'Wait. Stop.' Dudley wriggled from under Aaron's warm, pliant body. He scooted to the other end of the sofa. 'I need to tell you something.'

'Over there?'

'Yes. Because I can't think while you're… Touching… me.' Dudley leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. 'I used to be a fat kid!' he burst out.

'I used to be a weedy, nebbish kid, with a Jew-fro, spots, and horribly thick specs,' Aaron said. 'So?'

'I look like this because I don't let myself eat,' Dudley continued. 'The pudding you made? That was the most of a sweet I've had in over ten years.'

'You hardly ate any of it,' Aaron pointed out.

'It was the next best thing to sex I've had in long, long time,' Dudley said solemnly. 'But I'm going to swim ten extra laps tomorrow because I had pudding that wasn't fresh fruit.'

'Do you have an eating disorder?'

'No, you don't understand…' Dudley ran his hands through his hair. 'I wasn't just fat. I was enormous.' He colored with shame at how large he had been. 'My school didn't have uniforms large enough for me. I ate constantly. To try and do something about how completely awful m life was. I was a bully. I wasn't being truthful with you when I said I was an only child. My cousin Harry was raised with me. He was orphaned when we were a year old. We're only a month apart, and he was sent to live with my parents and me. And my parents treated him horribly. Like he was muck on the bottoms of their shoes. And they encouraged me to be just as nasty to him. And the worse I was to Harry, the more my parents loved me.' Dudley gulped. 'I was a fat, stupid bully.' He scrubbed his hands over his face. 'I was horribly stupid. My mother always said my teachers didn't understand me, and I was more intelligent than they could understand. Then when I got bad marks, it just made me feel even more stupid. The only reason I ever got myself together was when I started boxing. The coach at my school told me he wouldn't let me spar until I could see my feet. He made me work for what I wanted. Worked us all until we could barely walk. But when he told you you'd worked hard that day, you knew he meant it.' Dudley badly wanted to pace, but his sprained ankle kept him anchored to the sofa. 'When we were fifteen, Harry and I got mugged.' Dudley fell back on his cover story that he'd told his so-called friends in those days. 'I was hit on the head, and Harry saved my life. And I didn't defend him when my parents blamed him for the mugging.' Dudley's mouth twisted. 'Harry… he went to a different school, and something happened. A student died, and he saw it. He had nightmares about it, and I taunted him for it. Made cracks about Cedric – that's the boy that died – being his boyfriend, because it was so much easier than admitting to myself that I was a poof. I didn't want to be a poof. I didn't want to be different. My parents hated different. And I didn't want them to treat me the way they treated Harry.'

'I see…' Aaron murmured.

'No, you don't see!' Dudley exclaimed. 'It took me two years to admit to just myself that I was gay. And I'm still not out to my parents. They'll never talk to me again…' He took a deep breath. 'And you're so much cleverer than me. You're Cambridge, for God's sake, and I went to the University of East London…' Dudley felt like a lumpish ox. 'You ought to be with someone who can talk about important things and not that little Oliver Simmons figured out how to add two-digit numbers…'

'I don't follow…' Aaron looked confused.

'I haven't been honest with you. I've been withholding things from you. Things you should know about me.' Dudley hunched his shoulders miserably, then pushed himself to his feet, using the arm of the sofa. 'I'll understand if you don't want to see me anymore.' He headed for the stairs.

'Okay…' Aaron stood up, slipping his hands into his pockets. Dudley felt his heart plummet to his shoes. 'You're not still a bully are you?'

'N-n-n-no.'

Aaron nodded slowly. 'Would you like to see the rest of the house?'

'What?'

Aaron stepped to Dudley and wrapped a hand around Dudley's cold one. 'You're not who you were. I'm glad you feel like you could tell me all that. But I like the bloke that teaches eight year olds. And goes into raptures over my mum's apple strudel. But you don't have to hide with me.'

xxxxxx

'We don't have to do this,' Aaron commented, as Dudley drove slowly through Little Whinging. Dudley's shoulders rose a little more with every mile they drove. 'We could just go in as friends…'

Dudley shook his head. 'I don't want to lie.'

'We wouldn't be lying,' Aaron wheedled. 'Just not telling them everything.'

Dudley's hands clenched around the steering wheel. 'I'm not _not_ telling them,' he sighed. 'You of all people should understand what that means. There's never been anyone worth coming out for…' His palms slipped and the car lurched to the right. 'Just be prepared for them to chuck me out into the streets.' He pulled to a stop in front of number four Privet Drive and turned off the car, making no move to get out.

Aaron goggled at the antiseptically neat house and garden. 'Oh my God,' he chortled. '_This_ is where you grew up?' He smothered the chuckles that rose to the surface. 'I don't think I've ever seen a house look like it's got a pole shoved up its arse before.'

Dudley stared at the façade of the house with a glum expression as he heard a high-pitched yipping sound. 'Damn. Aunt Marge is here…'

'At least you'll only have to say it once.' Dudley threw Aaron a look. 'Looking on the bright side…'

'Come on. Get this over with.' A droplet of sweat tracked down the side of Dudley's face that had little to do with the warm June evening. Aaron reached for Dudley's hand and gave it a quick squeeze. Dudley turned and kissed Aaron, hard and quick. 'Give the neighbors something to talk about,' he joked.

'That's for later,' Aaron retorted. 'So you'll have good memories of your birthday.' He opened the passenger side door and unfolded himself from Dudley's small car. Dudley sighed once more and followed suit, closing the car door with a _bang_. He trudged to the door and closed his eyes for a brief moment before he opened the front door of a house where he no longer belonged.

'Dudders!' Petunia called from the kitchen. She emerged wearing a frilly apron over a party dress. 'Happy birthday!' She threw her arms around Dudley, kissing him noisily on the cheek. 'And you've brought a friend! How nice.' She motioned for them to follow her to the terrace in the back garden. 'Vernon! Marge! Dudley's here!'

'Dudley!' Vernon trundled to Dudley, slapping him on the back. 'Happy birthday, Son!'

'Ah. There's a good-looking man!' Marge waddled over, a dog tucked under her arm. 'You're looking too thin! Good thing you're here. Petunia'll feed you up.'

Dudley gulped, feeling his hands grow cold. 'Aaron, these are my parents, Vernon and Petunia Dursley.' He didn't miss his mother's sniff of disapproval that he'd flubbed the introductions. 'And my aunt, Marge Dursley.' Dudley drew a deep breath. 'Mum, Dad… This is Aaron Bernstein.'

'Well, Aaron. You work at that school with Dudley?' Vernon asked suspiciously.

Aaron held out a hand, and to his credit, didn't wince when Vernon tried to crush it in what passed for a handshake. 'No. I'm a solicitor. I work with a firm near the City.'

'Well, that's fine, then,' Vernon admitted gruffly.

'That's so nice that you've got a friend, Diddiums,' Petunia gushed. 'And a solicitor! How clever!'

'He's not just my friend, Mum,' Dudley said quietly. He wound his fingers through Aaron's hand. 'Well, he is, but he's…' He took a step closer to Aaron and Aaron's other hand landed on their entwined fingers.

Petunia's eyes narrowed. 'What do you mean, Dudley?' she asked sharply.

'Aaron is my…' Dudley felt his throat tighten. 'Boyfriend.'

'Your what?' Vernon roared.

'Boyfriend,' Dudley repeated, a hint of defiance in his voice.

Petunia shrieked and fell gracelessly to the grass in a faint. 'Petunia!' Vernon dropped to the ground next to her, and began to lightly slap her face. 'Look what you've done to your mother!'

'I should have known,' Marge declared. 'Anyone who decides to lose that much weight is nothing more than an arse bandit. That's right, boy, you heard me. Of course that's why you work with young children. Shirt lifters haven't got the morals of a dog. Eh? Turn your ways, do you hear me? No decent family ever produces a fairy. I never thought you were that light in your loafers, but I ought to have guessed when you never had a girlfriend. Vernon, you must write to Smeltings straightaway. Find out what they did to turn your son into a knob jockey.' She looked sympathetically at Petunia, beginning to rouse. 'It's all about breeding. I told you with that no-good nephew of yours. Breeding will out. Not to blame _you_, Petunia, but it obviously runs in _your_ family.'

Petunia stared wild-eyed at Dudley. 'It was Harry that did this to you!' she screamed, her face draining of color. 'That night when… when you got attacked! He did this!' She dissolved into wrenching sobs.

Vernon's face reddened, then turned an alarming shade of purple. 'Get out!' He lunged toward Dudley. 'Get out of my house! I'll not have any limp-wristed nancy boys in here.' He thrust his face into Dudley's. 'Out!' he ordered, spittle landing on Dudley's cheek.

Dudley stiffly took a step back, then another, still holding Aaron's hand in a death grip. He fled through the house for the relative sanctuary of the front garden. 'Dudley?' Aaron poked his arm. 'Dudley. Give me your keys.' Dudley groped in his pocket and fished out his keys. They clinked together as he handed them to Aaron because his hands shook so badly, Dudley doubted he could drive anyway. Aaron unlocked the car and Dudley fairly dove for the passenger seat, fastening his seatbelt before Aaron could reset the driver's seat and mirrors. He stared straight through the windscreen, stomach churning, saying nothing until they were heading back to London.

'Pull over,' Dudley said, between clenched teeth.

'What? Here?'

'Just get off the damn road!'

Startled, Aaron swerved to the verge and stopped the car. Dudley lurched out and stumbled away before he fell to his hands and knees and began to be quite noisily and messily sick. He remained there, dry heaves quivering through his shoulders, slowly becoming aware of a hand stroking the back of his head. 'Water?' Aaron asked softly.

Dudley nodded. 'Thanks…' He accepted the bottle Aaron held out to him and rinsed his mouth. Aaron took it and soaked a handkerchief, then squatted next to Dudley, and gently wiped his face with it.

'Come on,' Aaron urged, wrapping a hand around Dudley's arm. 'Let's go home…' He helped Dudley stand and deposited him into the car. Dudley didn't make another sound, but a tremor ran through him every so often, making Aaron drive just a little faster than he normally would. In the end, Aaron didn't take Dudley back to his flat, but rather to his own house. He guided Dudley, still in a stunned daze, up the stairs and to the bedroom, then gingerly loosened Dudley's tie. It was splattered with small droplets of sick. Aaron reckoned it would have to be thrown out. Dudley's head bowed, chin nearly resting on his chest and he seemed to have shrunk into himself. Quickly, Aaron undid the buttons of Dudley's shirt and pulled it off, tossing it to the floor. He made the larger man sit on the edge of the bed, and removed Dudley's shoes and socks, then up once more to divest him of his belt and trousers. Aaron turned back the bed and Dudley fell into its embrace of his own accord. He wrapped his arms around a pillow and burrowed into it.

Aaron hastily undressed and slid into the other side of the bed. He carefully eased the pillow from Dudley's grasp. Dudley's breathing grew harsh and he buried his face in Aaron's shoulder. It was only then that the tears came in a short, bitter torrent. After a few minutes, Dudley lifted his head just enough to meet Aaron's concerned gaze with his tear-blurred one. 'It could have gone worse,' he croaked.

Aaron snorted in disbelief. 'How so?' His hand threaded through Dudley's mussed hair, kneading the knots at the back of his neck.

'When I pictured doing this,' Dudley began slowly, 'I was always alone. I was never out to them, because I was more afraid of being alone than having them reject me. I figured they would, given how badly they treated Harry when we were growing up.' He pulled away from Aaron slightly. 'I never came out to them before, because I didn't have anyone worth coming out for.' One hand floated up to trace the curve of Aaron's lower lip. 'I do now,' he whispered, as if he feared Aaron would shatter if he spoke too loudly.

Aaron didn't say anything. He did, however, close the distance between them, capturing Dudley's mouth with his own.

It was a long time before either of them spared enough breath to speak. Dudley bit his lip, then decided to jump in with both feet. 'Love you…' he murmured sleepily, waiting for Aaron's response with bated breath. He felt Aaron's smile against his chest.

'Love you, too.'


	2. Discoveries

Aaron threw himself to the grass next to Dudley, who had his hands wrapped around his ankles, nose hovering over his knees, stretching after his run. 'What are you doing Friday evening?' he asked.

'I was planning to organize my sock drawer,' Dudley murmured.

'Well, erase that from your appointment book,' Aaron said. 'We're having dinner with my parents.'

Dudley seemed to freeze for a moment before he slowly straightened. 'Given what happened with my parents, is that wise?'

Aaron waved him off. 'Pfft. Remember? My parents know I'm gay and have for nearly fifteen years. It's not news.' He leaned back on his elbows. 'I've already told them about you, too.'

'Why?'

'Because I generally inform my parents when I've been seeing someone exclusively for nearly three months,' Aaron replied evenly, knowing he'd have to tread carefully. Dudley's insecurity frustrated him at times, as if Dudley was afraid Aaron gave him a slap when he'd initially offered affection. He lightly touched the back of Dudley's hand. 'Look, my parents are nothing like yours. They're not going to shout or threaten either of us. The most that will happen is my mum will try to make you eat.' Dudley's eyes widened fearfully. 'You don't have to eat it, although she might try to apply a heavy layer of guilt over that second helping of potatoes. Just keep telling her you've had enough to eat,' he said, mindful of Dudley's monitoring of his food intake. Leaning closer he grinned conspiratorially. 'I'm not sure Jewish guilt works on a _sheygets_, so you're probably safe.'

'A what?' Dudley's eyes narrowed at the unfamiliar word.

'A _goy_. A man who's not Jewish. If you were a girl, I'd call you a _shiksa_. In my brother Daniel's circles, it's quite rude, actually.' Aaron shrugged apologetically. 'I shouldn't have used it… It's just something that gets thrown around when someone I know dates someone who's a non-Jew. We don't mean anything by it. It's just sort of a cheeky way to call someone out for dating someone else who isn't Jewish. Sorry…'

'It's like queer.'

'What?'

'Queer…' Dudley flopped back onto the grass and gazed up at the low grey clouds above them. 'When I went to uni, there was this bloke who insisted on calling himself queer. Not gay, not homosexual. Queer. Said he was taking it back and using it to describe himself. I wasn't quite sure what that meant, exactly,' he confessed. When Aaron's mouth opened, Dudley held up a hand. He was sure Aaron was going to launch into a detailed explanation. 'And no, I don't want you lay it all out for me. I sort of get it. Now.' He rolled over on his side and propped his head up on an upturned palm. 'As far as rude names go, I thought my aunt Marge did it up brown last month. I think my favorite in her tirade was knob jockey.'

'Have they rung you yet?'

'My parents?' Dudley let himself fall back to the grass. 'No.'

'And if they never do?'

'I'll just have to live with it.' Dudley sat up and began to gather the odds and ends Aaron insisted on him bringing when he came to the park to run. 'I wrote to my cousin, Harry,' he muttered before taking a quick pull on a bottle of water.

'Oh?'

'Hasn't written back yet,' Dudley said softly against the small, but definite sting of rejection. 'But Ginny's supposed to have the baby any day now, so I'm sure he's a bit distracted.'

'Who are you trying to convince?' Aaron demanded. 'Me or you?'

Dudley began walking toward the entrance of Clayhill Park closest to his flat. 'When I said I was rotten to him when we were kids, I meant it. He's got more right than either of my parents to cut me off.'

Aaron ran to catch up with Dudley. 'I seriously do not understand you.'

'Nobody asked you to!' Dudley walked faster, nearly breaking into a run. He knew Aaron was much faster at a sprint, so didn't try to outrun him. Aaron didn't even try to keep up with him and Dudley pushed the even greater sting of rejection away. He should have known it was too good to last. So it came as a complete surprise to him an hour later when he opened the door of his flat to find Aaron standing on the landing, hair on end, literally bristling with indignation.

'Right. If we're going to break it off, then we ought to do it properly with a row that ends when one of us throws something and stalks out slamming the door.' Aaron plowed into the flat. 'What in the hell did you mean?'

'Harry and I just started writing to one another after his eldest son was born. And mostly it's been cards at Christmas, but every so often he'll send me a short note with a few pictures of his family. I don't think he tells his wife we write more often than Christmas cards, because she's from this insanely close-knit family and will probably encourage him to make nice with me, even if he's not ready for it. I may be thick sometimes, but I'm not stupid. And I know how Harry feels about me. And I'm sure he'd rather kiss Marge's dog than meet with me face-to-face. So a few weeks ago, I get this letter from him. And it's full of news about his family. That his wife went into preterm labor with and she's been forced to take it easy until the baby's born. That his godson's peeved at his parents for dying just after he was born. So I wrote back to him. And came out. But I only posted it four or five days ago. And like I said, Ginny's due to have the baby soon. So I can tell myself he's busy and believe it. Because I don't want to think about the alternative. That in spite of his… well… That he's going to think the way my parents do.

'And when I tell you I was a git to him when we were kids, I'm not exaggerating. I don't have the words to describe how truly awful I really was. He has every right to ignore me.'

'Why do you do that to yourself?'

'Do what?'

'Berate yourself. It's as if you think you're not worth my time or effort. Or anyone's for that matter.'

'Maybe I'm not. Maybe I don't…' Dudley stopped and began to straighten the photographs on his mantle.

'Look…' Aaron stepped behind Dudley, and rested his hands on the taller man's shoulders. 'I'm not asking you to move in with me, nor have children with me. Yet. I just want to see where this goes. And take you to dinner at my parents' house on Friday.' His hands slid down Dudley's arms and around his waist. Aaron moved so his chest pressed against Dudley's back. He didn't miss the way Dudley stiffened or how his bottom clenched. Dudley didn't relax until Aaron moved to his side. Aaron frowned briefly. It wasn't the first time Dudley had reacted that way. But now was not the time to inquire why. Dudley had been through enough confession for one night.

xxxxxx

'Do I look all right?' Dudley stood in the sitting room of Aaron's house, arms held out slightly from hid body.

'You look fine,' Aaron told him. 'In fact, Mum might ask me why I don't make an effort like that…'

Dudley's hands flew to his neatly-knotted tie. 'Is it too much?'

'It's fine.' Aaron pressed a light kiss to the corner of Dudley's mouth. 'Come on.' He led Dudley to his seldom-used car and opened the passenger door. 'It's all going to be fine.'

Dudley snorted in ironic laughter. 'Who are you trying to convince? Me or you?'

'Me. My mum can be a little… eager. It tends to frighten off all but the hardiest of souls.' Aaron started the car and darted into the flow of traffic.

It was a relatively short drive to Aaron's childhood home on a quiet street in Hampstead. Dudley felt a smile spread over his face. The house was red brick with white trim, surrounded by an expanse of somewhat overgrown lawn. Even the brick was slightly worn around the edges. It was as unlike Dudley's childhood home as it could be. Dudley's hands clenched around the paper-wrapped bouquet of flowers he'd brought for Aaron's mother, making the paper crinkle loudly. A short, somewhat rotund woman opened the door and cheerily waved to them. Aaron grinned and waved back, shutting off the car. 'I promise, what you see is what you get with Mum,' he said reassuringly to Dudley. Before he got out of the car, he pulled a small, flat circle from his jacket pocket and clapped it on the back of his head. He opened the car door, motioning for Dudley to do the same. He walked up to the door and embraced his mother. 'What smells so delicious, Mum?'

'Chicken soup. Your father's feeling a bit under the weather.'

Aaron drew Dudley closer. 'Mum, this is Dudley Dursley. Dudley, this is Miriam Bernstein. My mother.'

Dudley held out the flowers. 'Thank you for having me to dinner,' he said, feeling more than a bit awkward.

'Aaron was most insistent we meet you,' Miriam said, leading them into the house. And of course, he's going meet someone as tall as he is, so I must crane my head to talk to you.' She continued into the kitchen. 'I'll just put these in some water.'

Aaron stopped in front of chair containing a thin man with a shock of silvery white hair. 'Hiya, Dad.' The man stood and wrapped his arms around Aaron tightly. 'Dad… can't breathe…' The man chuckled and patted Aaron's cheek with one hand. 'Dad, this is Dudley Dursley. Dudley, my father, David Bernstein.'

Dudley held out his hand and David took it in a surprisingly gentle, yet firm grip. 'It's nice to meet you.'

'Aaron tells us you're a teacher.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Taking on the education of the future of our country,' David began, 'there is no higher calling than this. What do you teach?'

'Maths. Year Three.'

David indicated the dining table. 'And how do you like it?'

'There are good days when it seems like everything falls into place and then there are days where it seems like nothing you do works. But I can't picture anything else I'd rather do.' Dudley gazed curiously at the table, set with a pair of silver candlesticks, a small silver cup of wine, and something covered by an embroidered, fringed silk cloth.

David took the chair at the head of the table, and Miriam patted the back of a chair. 'Sit here, Dudley,' she told him, moving around to where the candlesticks stood. She lit a match and touched it to each candle's wick, then cupped her hands around the flickering flames and brought them up and around the flames and toward her face, as if she gathered the light to herself. She repeated this unexpected gesture twice more, completely covered her eyes, than began to chant. '_Baruch atah Adonai, eloheinu melech ha'olam, asher kidshanu bimitzvotav, vitzivanu leihadlich ner shel Shabbat._' Dudley glanced at Aaron, perplexed, but Aaron gave him the "I'll explain later" gesture Dudley had grown familiar with over the past several weeks.

David picked up the cup and held it up. '_Baruch atah Adonai, eloheinu melech ha'olam, borei p'rei hagahahfen_. _Amein_' He took a sip of the wine and handed it to Aaron, who took a sip as well, then handed it to Miriam, who also sipped from the cup, then passed it to Dudley. Bemused, Dudley accepted it and glanced wildly at Aaron, who made a small, encouraging motion with his hand, and taking a deep breath, Dudley took a small sip of the wine. His eyes crossed, making Aaron snicker. Miriam smacked Aaron on the arm.

'Be nice,' she said sternly.

'It was a little…' Dudley fished for a polite way to tell her it was like drinking cough medicine.

'You should be here at Passover,' Aaron chortled, whisking the cloth from two loaves of braided bread. 'Stuff flows like water during the Seder. After the first glass, you don't care quite so much anymore.' He held up the bread and began to sing in a slightly off-key baritone. '_Baruch atah Adonai, eloheinu melech ha'olam, ha'motzi lechem min ha'aretz. Amein_.' He tore off a large chunk of bread, and ripped off a piece from it, before handing the larger piece to his father. It came to Dudley, who self-consciously copied their actions, before giving it to Miriam. She popped the bread into her mouth and went into the kitchen, returning with a tureen that she set near her place at the table.

'Pass your bowl to me, Dudley,' she instructed, ladling the aforementioned chicken soup into it. 'I hope you like chicken soup.'

'I do.'

Miriam served David and Aaron before filling her own bowl. 'Don't be shy,' she told Dudley. 'We've got more than enough.'

Dudley picked up his spoon and stirred it through the soup. Shards of chicken, carrots, and celery floated in the clear broth, surrounded by noodles. He lifted the spoon to his mouth. 'It's very good.'

'Aaron can make it almost as well as I can,' Miriam boasted, smiling with pride at her younger son. 'Have him make some for you, and freeze it. And when you start to feel poorly, have a bowl. It will fix what ails you in no time at all.'

'How?'

'Don't question the soup,' Aaron chided gently. 'Just eat the soup.'

The meal was leisurely, punctuated by conversation ranging from Aaron's work and Dudley's students, the collection that had just been donated to the library where Miriam worked as a curator, to David's laughable attempts to write the next great novel, now that he had retired. 'I can never get past the opening line. I've got great opening lines,' he said. Dudley politely rebuffed Miriam's exhortations to eat more, demurring he had eaten quite enough. The meal had been excellent. Far better than his mother's cooking, but Dudley reckoned it was due to the decided lack of tension at the table. He was able to actually enjoy the meal.

'Why don't we have pudding on the patio?' Miriam suggested. 'It's a lovely evening.' She rose and shooed Dudley and Aaron outside. Aaron grabbed Dudley's hand and pulled him out the door and onto a large brick-paved area. Dudley stopped and gazed at the sloping lawns. He was struck once more how utterly unlike Privet Drive it all was. His mother would never have allowed it to descend into the wildness that surrounded them. Aaron dropped into a padded wicker loveseat, and when Dudley made to sit elsewhere, Aaron pulled him down next to him. The seat creaked dangerously under their combined weight, but Aaron just draped an arm around Dudley's shoulders.

'All right?' Aaron murmured, lips grazing the edge of Dudley's ear.

'Are they always this nice or is it just because it's my first time here?'

'They're always like this,' Aaron said, scooting even closer. 'Even after Daniel said I was dead to him and told them in no uncertain terms why, which basically forced me to come out to them, they still treated me the same. And when Daniel chose to live with the Haredi, they refused to judge him or his motives. Which is more than I can say for myself.'

'Do you think you'll ever reconcile with him?'

'I doubt it,' Aaron said quietly. 'I don't see Daniel accepting the way I live my life and I can't live the way he does.' He looked up as Miriam stepped out of the house, holding a platter with her famous apple strudel, David behind her, carrying a tray with a coffee service. 'Have you talked to Daniel lately?' he asked, strain evident in his voice.

'Tuesday,' Miriam supplied, slicing the strudel. 'Rivka's going to have another baby,' she added, managing to keep her tone neutral. 'Devorah's only nine months old, and she's already pregnant again,' she sighed.

'Daniel and his wife, Rivka, have six children,' Aaron said. 'Samuel, Asher, Avraham, Tziporah, Yitzhak, and Devorah. Asher and Avraham are twins.'

'They're darling children,' Miriam interjected. 'But…'

'It's a lot for Rivka to handle,' David finished for her. He poured coffee and glanced at Dudley. 'How do you take your coffee?'

'Black, please,' Dudley said.

'No milk or sugar?' Miriam asked blankly.

'No. Thank you.' Dudley took the cup and saucer David handed him, the juggled the plate with strudel, wishing for a moment he had his cousin's ability to conjure things out of thin air. Aaron hooked a foot around a low table on his side of the seat and dragged it in front of them. Mouthing a heartfelt thank you, Dudley set the coffee on the table. The last thing he wanted to do was spill and embarrass himself.

'What do your parents do Dudley?' Miriam asked, settling into a rocking chair near David.

'My mum keeps house. It's so antiseptic, keeping it that way is a full time job. My dad is the director of a firm that manufactures drills. It's a bit boring, actually.'

'Do they live in London, as well?' inquired David.

'In Surrey. Little Whinging.'

'Oh, that's not terribly far,' Miriam exclaimed. She turned to David. 'We must invite them to dinner sometime.'

'That won't be a good idea, Mum,' Aaron interrupted, resting a hand on Dudley's knee and giving it a squeeze. 'They… erm…' He glanced at Dudley, who had gone pale and his eyes dropped to the bricks between his feet. 'They didn't take it well when we had dinner with them last month…'

Dudley set his pudding down next to the coffee. 'Excuse me…' He fled into the house and stood uncertainly into the kitchen, jumping when Aaron touched his arm.

'Bathroom's upstairs. Door on the left at the top of the stairs.' Dudley nodded and ran up the stairs, trembling.

Miriam trailed after Aaron. 'What was that all about?'

'He just came out,' Aaron said quietly, leaning against the counter. 'I don't think they'll sit shiva for him, but I don't think they're going to talk to him again for a long, long time.'

'Oh. Oh, dear.' Miriam wrung her hands together.

'It's all right. You didn't know,' Dudley said behind her. He drew a deep breath. 'I'd like to compare your strudel with Aaron's. His is quite good, you know.' He tried to smile, but it didn't manage to make it up to his eyes, and returned to the back garden, where he could be heard making his apologies to David.

'Aaron…?' Miriam slipped an arm around her son's waist. 'Are you sure you want to add all of his issues to your relationship on top of the interfaith aspect of it, as well?'

'I don't know,' Aaron admitted softly. He bent and wrapped his arms around his mother. 'I just…' He exhaled slowly. 'I think I love him.' He smiled crookedly. 'Like have kids with him and argue over schools and whether we're letting them watch too much telly.' He released Miriam and straightened. 'And he's nothing like his parents.'

'I should hope not,' Miriam sniffed. 'Otherwise, I might have to ask if you've had some sort of head injury.' She gently pushed Aaron out of the kitchen. 'We're always here for you,' she told him as they, too, returned to the garden. 'Both of you if it comes to it.'

xxxxxx

'Do you want to go home, or stay at my house tonight?' Aaron asked, stifling a yawn.

'I'll go home,' Dudley replied sleepily. 'I don't have anything at your house, and I most certainly do not fit into your clothes.'

'Do you want me to stay with you?'

Dudley sat up. 'Why are you trying to make sure I'm not alone?'

'I'm not,' Aaron insisted.

'Then what's with the inquisition about where I'm going to sleep tonight?' Dudley examined Aaron's profile in the dim light from the streetlamps. 'I'm fine. A little envious of you for your parents, but you can't choose your parents, can you?'

Aaron's hands tightened briefly on the steering wheel of the car. 'Do you mind if I stay?'

'Not at all. I'll even make breakfast.'

Aaron shuddered dramatically. 'Egg whites and dry toast? Not bloody likely, mate.'

'If you want a full breakfast, you're cooking it,' Dudley stated. 'I haven't had one of those since I was fourteen…'

'Fine. I'll cook the breakfast, and I'll even make sure it passes your strict standards. But I'm cooking the whole egg, yeah? Egg whites by themselves are just not appetizing. And since it means that much to you, we'll go for an extra-long ride through the park.'

'Deal.'

xxxxxx

Dudley's bed was somewhat smaller than Aaron's, but Aaron didn't mind. He stacked his hands behind his head, watching while Dudley shed his clothes, hanging them up in the small cupboard, keeping his back turned toward the wall. Aaron had noticed that quirk of behavior before and had brushed it off as a mere eccentricity. Dudley donned a large t-shirt that brushed the tops of his thighs and crawled into bed with a soft sigh. Aaron turned to him and grasped the edge of the shirt attempting to pull it off. Dudley visibly hesitated, then lifted up just enough for Aaron to tug it over his head. Aaron nibbled at Dudley's lower lip, then paused long enough to remove his glasses and drop them on the small table on the other side of the bed. He blinked owlishly at Dudley. 'You know it's a mitzvah to give your partner pleasure on _Shabbos_.'

'You're making that up,' Dudley objected with a smile.

Aaron's hand slid over Dudley's shoulder blades. 'I'm not. I'll prove it to you. Tomorrow.' Dudley laughed and Aaron's hand slid still lower, stopping just above the waistband of Dudley's boxers. Dudley tensed a little, but relaxed as Aaron's hand moved over his hip and toyed with the front. It didn't matter what they did, Dudley persisted in keeping his underwear on. If Aaron thought it was strange, he kept his opinions to himself. By his own admission, Dudley had had few long-term relationships. Dudley's relief proved to be short-lived. Aaron cupped his bottom and Dudley stiffened. Undaunted, Aaron's questing hand slipped into the waistband of Dudley's boxers and came to a stop. 'What's that?' he asked, fingering what felt like a scar just above the cleft of his bum. Dudley jerked away, nearly falling off the bed in the process. Aaron sat up, the bedding pooling around his waist. _What now?_ he sighed to himself. He stared at Dudley, trying to flatten his backside into the mattress. 'Were you abused? Did your last boyfriend do that to you?'

'No. It's an old… injury.'

'Someone tried to bugger you and missed?' Aaron asked sarcastically.

'You wouldn't believe me if I told you,' Dudley muttered, reaching for his shirt and yanking it back over his head. He badly wanted to tell Aaron everything. The pig's tail and subsequent surgery to have it removed. How Harry blew up Marge, and how in hindsight, Dudley wished he could have done the same. The sweet those twins who came to fetch Harry that one summer dropped that had made his tongue swell, nearly choking him. Those things in the tunnel that nearly killed him. He wanted to show Aaron the other photographs of Harry's family. The ones that moved and showed Harry laughing with his young sons.

Aaron bit back what he was going to say and lay down. 'It's been a long day,' he finally said. 'Get some sleep.'

xxxxxx

A/N:

Sheygets – a male non-Jew

Shiksa – a female non-Jew

_Baruch atah Adonai, eloheinu melech ha'olam, asher kidshanu bimitzvotav, vitzivanu leihadlich ner shel Shabbat. _– the blessing over the candles lit to mark the beginning of the Jewish Sabbath. Roughly translated it means, 'Blessed are you, Adonai our God, sovereign of the universe, who hallows us with your commandments, and commands us to kindle the lights of Shabbat.

_Baruch atah Adonai, eloheinu melech ha'olam, borei p'rei hagahahfen_. _Amein. _ – the blessing over wine. Again, roughly translated means, 'Blessed are you Adonai, our God, sovereign of the universe, who creates the fruit of the vine. Amen.

_Baruch atah Adonai, eloheinu melech ha'olam, ha'motzi lechem min ha'aretz. Amein._ – the blessing over bread. In English, 'Blessed are you Adonai our God, sovereign of the universe, who gives us bread from the earth. Amen.'

Sitting shiva is week-long period of mourning after someone dies.

And Aaron is technically correct. In the Talmud (the Jewish oral laws, as opposed to the Torah, the written laws), a husband is commanded to have sex with his wife so many times a week, depending on his profession. If he works in town, it's more often. However, especially on the Sabbath, he is supposed to ensure his wife enjoys it.


	3. Do You Believe In Magic?

Aaron woke up, as per his usual habit, in stages. His mother claimed he had been nearly impossible to wake as a teenager. Aaron didn't have any reason to doubt her. Even now he had to set no less than two alarms in his bedroom on opposite sides of the room. He also had to make sure the alarms were set loud enough to wake the dead. Anything at a lower volume didn't penetrate his slumber. It was the sound of running water that had awakened him. By the time he'd surfaced enough to pry his eyes open, the shower had shut off; however, it had also aroused a desperate need for the loo. Wanting nothing more than to snuggle back into the bedding, but wholly unable to ignore the internal urges of his body's needs, Aaron sighed and grabbed his glasses, swinging his feet to the floor. He let his glasses dangle from his fingers as he shuffled down the short corridor to the small bathroom. The door was halfway open, and Dudley stood at the sink, a towel carelessly wrapped around his waist, staring intently at the mirror while he shaved. The angle of the sink in comparison to the door meant Dudley couldn't really see Aaron standing just outside the bathroom. The end of the towel slipped from its moorings and slithered to the floor. Aaron peered nearsightedly at Dudley, then jammed his glasses on his nose. His mouth fell open slightly, and he took the few steps into the bathroom, and one finger extended to trace the outline of the round, puckered scar, just above the cleft of the younger man's bottom. 'What the bloody hell happened?' he said hoarsely.

Startled, Dudley's arm jerked sideways over his cheek, and a thin cut opened over his cheekbone. He hissed in pain, and snatched up the face cloth draped over a hook on the wall over the taps of the bath and pressed the wet cloth to his face. 'Don't sneak up on me like that!'

Aaron's eyes were wide with simmering anger. 'Who did that to you?' He grabbed Dudley's arm and shook it. 'Who?'

'Nobody,' Dudley insisted.

'Nobody?' Aaron scoffed. 'Was it your dad?'

'No.'

'Someone at school?'

Dudley shook his head. 'No. Nobody knew I was gay at school. Except for Stuart Menzies, and I'm sure he didn't tell anyone. He wasn't out, either.'

'Uni?'

'I'm not a witness in one of your damn cases, Aaron,' Dudley snapped.

'Just tell me who did that to you.'

Dudley pulled the face cloth away from his cheek, and examined the oozing cut on his face. 'It was a long time ago,' he sighed, opening the small medicine cabinet next to the mirror. He pulled out a styptic pencil, dribbling water over the tip, then rubbed it gingerly over the shallow cut, gasping a little when it began to sting from the astringent ingredients. 'I was eleven.'

'That doesn't make it excusable.'

Dudley carefully replaced the styptic pencil and reached for the towel, securing it around his waist once more. 'I suppose not,' he said tiredly. 'Do you ever see someone in the streets? Someone dressed oddly?'

Aaron dropped to the closed lid of the toilet. 'Dudley, one of my mates dresses up in a leather waistcoat and chaps with little else to go out to the clubs on Saturday nights. Define "odd".'

'Old-fashioned clothes,' Dudley said, rinsing the blood from the face cloth. 'Bright colors that are almost _too_ bright. Or wearing regular clothes that just don't go together. Like a mackintosh and stiletto high heeled shoes.'

'That's half the women that work in the City.'

Dudley resisted the urge to rub his hand over his face. It would only reopen the cut. 'Or a man wearing a flannel nightdress with rain boots? People wearing clothes that look like those paintings of the Middle Ages, or the clothes have this almost Victorian look to them…? They look almost normal, until you look at them again, and there's something… off… about them.'

'Yeah… Sometimes.'

'Did you ever believe in magic?' Dudley whispered.

'When I was five years old.'

'My cousin, Harry?' Dudley began. He continued when Aaron nodded encouragingly. 'He's a… Well, he can… He's a wizard…' he said softly. 'And the day he found out, this bloke that was too big to be real came to fetch him and get his things for his school. And he pointed this flowered, pink umbrella at me. I felt this… buzz over my skin, and then something _grew_ out of my bum.' He flushed and his hands flew behind his back. 'It was a pig's tail.' He glanced shyly, apologetically at Aaron. 'I told you I was fat…'

Aaron stared stonily at him. 'You're lying.'

Dudley stormed from the bathroom, and opened a drawer of his bureau. He turned to see Aaron had followed him from the bathroom and held out a sheaf of photographs. Aaron glanced down at them, then did a comical double-take. 'They're moving,' Aaron breathed. He turned over the photograph. 'Nice trick… What kind of digital frame is this?' The photograph rippled as he waved it in the air.

'It's not a trick!' Dudley protested, his voice rising shrilly. 'If you don't believe me, you can ask my mother. Her sister was Harry's mother. And _she_ was a witch! It's why she and my mum didn't speak to one another! It's why my parents mistreated Harry, because they thought they could beat it out of him!' He collapsed to the edge of the bed. 'The year after the tail, he left my parents' house in a flying car. The year after that, he made my Aunt Marge blow up like a ruddy balloon. They came to the house to fix her. They even fixed her memory, so she thought she just drank too much. The year after that, his friends came to take him to their house for the rest of the summer. They came through the fireplace. One of them dropped a toffee on the floor. It made my tongue swell and grow…' Dudley's breath caught at the memory of gagging and gasping for air, tears squeezing from the corners of his eyes. 'I almost died, because my mum and dad wouldn't let his friends' dad fix it,' he murmured. 'The following summer, these _things_ – Mum called them Dementors – attacked Harry and me. Harry… He said some sort of phrase and this light came out of his wand – and yes, he uses a wand – and drove them away. The next year, one of his teachers came to take him away. He conjured wine out of thin air and sent it floating across the room to us.' A crease appeared between his brows. 'Then they disappeared out of thin air…' Dudley shook his head slowly from side to side. 'The scar, it's from having the tail removed.' His entire body seemed to fall into itself. 'I never know how to explain it. So I never… I never let anyone really see it. And I've never told anyone any of this.'

Aaron studied each photograph. It was like holding a tiny film. The figures moved and spoke to the person taking the photograph. It was like a silent film, only in color. He set them carefully on the top of the bureau and pulled his clothes on. 'I need to think about this,' he said buttoning his trousers. 'I'll… I'll ring later…'

Dudley sat motionless on the bed. After the soft _click_ of the closing door reached his ears, he crawled under the bedding, pulling it over his head, curling his body around the cramping wave of nausea that suddenly rose in his throat.

XxXxXxX

Dudley hunched at his small kitchen table, surrounded by brightly colored squares of poster paper, making flashcards for the upcoming term. As much as he tried to keep his materials pristine, eight year-old boys weren't known for their delicacy in handling such things. After a couple of years, they had become so bent and creased, they looked nearly tattered. He picked up his mobile and checked the battery level, then dialed his voice mail, looking crestfallen when the supercilious female voice informed him he had no new messages. No text messages, either. He knew the maddening device was working. One of his co-workers had rung that morning inviting him over for tea that evening.

Aaron hadn't rung. Or come over. Or even sent an e-mail or text message.

It was now mid-August.

Dudley no longer ran around the football pitch where Aaron played on Sundays. He went to the other side of the park for his run. Mentally, Dudley shrugged. He figured Aaron would have been spooked by his revelations. Strangely, he didn't regret confessing everything to Aaron. It was something of a relief. At least he knew now that he'd been right before to keep it all to himself. Now he had to come up with some sort of story for that scar in case it ever came up again. He shuddered slightly. Dudley had never been very good at making up stories to conceal Harry's magical abilities. He had spent most of his childhood parroting whatever his parents had said. Perhaps the next time someone asked about it, he could chalk it up to a boarding school prank. That was plausible.

The sound of mail slipping through the slot was a welcome diversion. Dudley idly sorted through the post, grinning when he saw an envelope addressed in a slanting, angular hand. The thickness of the envelope meant there were photographs enclosed, making Dudley guess the baby had finally arrived. He tossed the rest of it to the coffee table, and sat on the sofa, ripping open the envelope and removing the sheaf of photographs, unwrapping the sheet of paper Harry had folded around them.

_10 August 2008_

_Dear Dudley,_

_As you can see, we welcomed Lily to the family. She was born on July twenty-third. I had to deliver her, and it was possibly the best experience of my life. It all happened so quickly, that the only thing I truly remember is realizing I was the first person to touch Lily. Truly awe inspiring. She definitely has her mum's hair, but we're not sure about her eyes yet. They're still that cloudy blue that newborns have. We'll see how it goes in a few weeks. Considering James has my father-in-law's eyes, and Al has mine, it's anyone's guess as to what Lily's might be. I'm rather hoping she does get Ginny's eyes. _

_The boys aren't quite sure what to make of her. James thinks she cries too much and complains every time she does cry. (Although, according to Ginny, Lily cries much less than James ever did. In Jemmy's defense, she isn't fond of anyone except Gin, my godson Teddy, or me, and wails when they try to hold her.) Albus is quite jealous of the attention Ginny or I give to Lily, even to the point of climbing into Ginny's lap while she's trying to nurse Lily. It makes things a bit tense at times, but that's the joys of parenthood. Teddy just adores her. When he's at our house, Ginny and I rarely have to do any of the dirty work._

_I've enclosed some recent photographs. I put in plenty of "normal" ones so you can show them to that bloke you've been seeing, if you want. _

_Hope you're well._

_Harry_

Dudley felt a pang as he looked at the first photograph. It must have been taken just after Lily's birth. Ginny didn't seem as if she were aware someone had a camera. She was propped up on a pile of fluffy pillows, Lily cradled against her breast, wrapped in a bright yellow towel. Lines of weariness were evident on Ginny's face, nearly lost in the satisfied glow that surrounded her. Harry sat in an armchair, Al balanced on one knee, Lily in one arm, while Al poked and prodded her. Dudley held the photograph closer, and could see Al's mouth form the word "nose" while he nudged the tip of Lily's snubbed baby nose, while Harry nodded approvingly. The corner of Dudley's mouth tipped up. Against all odds, they were both doing quite well. Harry had his family, and from what Dudley could see in the photographs, he was happy. And as for himself, Dudley could honestly say he wasn't a waste of space.

Heaving a sigh, with just a hint of regret, Dudley propped up a photograph of Harry, Ginny, and all three children on the mantle and returned to the flash cards on the kitchen table.

XxXxXxX

Aaron glanced up impatiently as the disembodied voice announced a delay on the Victoria Line. He seldom traveled on the Victoria Line, but he had to go to Brixton that morning in order to complete the examination of documents for a case that was scheduled to go to trial soon. He found an unoccupied bench and pulled out his morning paper, skimming the headlines. He paged through the paper, not really focusing on any one story. He found himself mulling over Dudley's tale, carefully examining each detail under the light of logic. It honestly didn't make much sense. Magic didn't really exist. It honestly sounded like the ravings of a lunatic, but Aaron could remember a comment Petunia had made the night they tried to have dinner with Dudley's parents. She'd mentioned Harry and how Dudley had been attacked. That scar on his bottom reminded Aaron of burn marks he'd seen on one of his friends, but Dudley claimed he hadn't been abused. If anything, Dudley had been agonizingly open with Aaron from the beginning. Guileless. If his parents' rejection of Dudley had stung as badly as it did, Aaron could only imagine what his continued silence did to him.

He squirmed slightly, remembering his promise to ring after Dudley's fantastical confession. He hadn't kept it. He found himself picking up his mobile, finding Dudley's number, then putting it back down. Aaron didn't want to talk about the confession or to Dudley until he had worked through his own doubts about it. He ought to have at least telephoned Dudley to tell him that, instead of letting the poor man hang in a chasm of doubt and insecurity.

'Mum, why are we so early?' a child whined. 'The train for Hogwarts doesn't leave for _hours_.'

'It's always a crush on that platform. And if you get to the platform early, you can have your choice of seats,' the child's mother sniffed.

Aaron looked up, frowning. An adolescent boy pushed a luggage trolley through the crowds, piled with a large trunk and a sizeable knapsack. Perched on top of the trunk was the largest cat Aaron had ever seen. It regarded him coolly with enormous green eyes, almost daring him to comment on the lack of some sort of crate. It lifted a fluffy grey paw and desultorily washed it, keeping its eyes on Aaron.

Aaron blinked, and the mother and child were lost in the crowd. Or at least Aaron assumed they were. It was as if they passed by Platform Nine and disappeared. _They've just gone round the barrier…_ He shook his head, and took a sip of his cooling coffee, returning to his newspaper. The sounds of rattling rose above the murmur of people moving around him. Aaron peered over the edge of the newspaper. Three children dodged the commuters, each with a small cage balanced precariously on top of their trunks, followed by what were obviously their parents. _Are those… Owls?_ The newspaper lowered slowly, and Aaron stared, mouth slightly open. _Those can't be owls. Owls aren't domesticated,_ he argued silently.

'It's best if you close your eyes,' the father advised, putting a hand on the youngest one's shoulder.

'And go at a dead run!' piped up the oldest.

'Do you want to go first?' asked the mother, worry clearly coloring her voice.

'Okay…' The child's reply ended on a quaver. He took a deep breath and began to run straight toward the barrier between platforms nine and ten. The announcer's voice reiterating the delay on the Victoria Line momentarily distracted Aaron, and when he returned to the barrier, the child was gone.

Along with his brothers.

Over the next several minutes, a succession of children, ranging in age from early adolescence to late teens, hurried through the station, accompanied by their parents. They always disappeared, seemingly into thin air, or melted into the milling crowd, but Aaron could never quite figure out where they had gone.

Aaron pressed his thumbs into the indentations above his eyes. _It's just a headache_, he told himself. _Stress_. He stared sightlessly into nothing, wondering if perhaps Dudley might have been telling the truth after all.

He was still sitting on the end of the bench when the train for the Victoria Line pulled into the station, then minutes later, left without him.

Aaron shook himself and rooted in his briefcase for his mobile, scrolling down through the names in his phonebook, selecting one in the middle of the list. He tapped the number and waited until his colleague in Brixton answered his telephone. 'Yeah, it's Aaron. I'm at King's Cross… Listen, I'm not feeling very well… Yeah. Must have eaten something… I think I ought to just go home. Right. Yeah. I'll be out tomorrow. Thanks, Andy.' He slid the mobile back into his briefcase and found the National Rail train that would take him to Surrey. There was one person he knew he would be able to talk to in order to verify his own suspicions, as well as Dudley's tale.

XxXxXxX

Aaron paid the fare and exited the taxi, waiting until it had driven off down Privet Drive and disappeared around a corner. He turned and looked at the house, feeling slightly ridiculous. Petunia had no reason in the world to be honest with him and she very well might slam the door in his face. He approached the door as if it might explode if he came too near and knocked with much more confidence than he felt. The sharp _tappity-tap_ of shoes grew louder as a figure came toward the door. It opened a mere crack, and Petunia's long, horsey face filled it. 'Yes?'

'You might not remember me,' Aaron began. 'I'm Aaron Bernstein. Dudley's… friend.'

Petunia's eyes narrowed. 'What do you want?' she hissed, eyes darting from side to side, hurriedly searching to see if any neighbors were watching this unusual event taking place.

'I need to talk to you.'

'I haven't anything to say to you.' Petunia began to shut the door, but Aaron blocked it with his foot.

'Dudley has a scar, just above his bottom,' Aaron said pleasantly, as if he was discussing the weather.

'How do you know that?' Petunia gasped.

'Use your imagination,' Aaron replied evenly. 'How did he get it?'

'It was an accident,' she said, the lie coming easily to her lips with the ease of long practice. 'He had to have stitches.'

'Hm. Looks more like a burn to me. The kind you'd get if someone pressed the lit end of a cigarette to your skin,' Aaron observed.

'We didn't abuse Dudley!' Petunia nearly shouted.

'I didn't say you did,' Aaron reminded her. 'I merely made an observation of what the scar resembles.'

'It was an accident,' Petunia stubbornly maintained.

Aaron nodded, moving to his next question. 'What was the name of the school your nephew, Harry, attended?' Aaron inquired mildly.

'St. Brutus' Secure Center for Incurable Criminal Boys,' she snapped.

Aaron smiled thinly. 'We both know that's not it, Mrs. Dursley. Now. Answer the question: where did your nephew attend school?'

'I've told you,' Petunia protested.

'Mrs. Dursley, you and I know that – what was it? – St. Brutus' Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys does not exist. What is the name of the school?' Petunia's mouth clamped shut. Aaron leaned forward a little. 'Dudley told me. Everything. I didn't believe him until today. I saw things at King's Cross that are quite illogical and I think it will corroborate everything Dudley said. But you and he are the only ones I know that can do this.' Petunia's face paled slightly. Aaron allowed a small bit of triumph to creep into his voice. A large part of questioning witnesses involved reading their body language, and Petunia's was screaming at him. If she had fainted when Dudley came out he could only imagine what a confrontation about Harry would do to a woman who cared for appearances above all else. 'You can let me in, and we can talk about this like civilized people, or I can shout on the doorstep. Your choice.'

The door opened just enough to allow Aaron to slip through the gap. It was telling that Petunia didn't invite him inside any further than the entrance. 'What is the school called?' Aaron asked in the same pleasant voice he'd been using.

Petunia's lips thinned. 'Hogwarts,' she said in a barely audible voice.

'And your nephew, Harry, is a…?'

The lips thinned even more. 'Wizard,' she mouthed.

'You have a sister, I believe?'

'She's dead,' Petunia spat.

'What was her name?'

Petunia stiffened. 'Lily,' she mumbled.

'Lovely name. Dudley tells me she was a witch.' Petunia nodded. 'I see.' Aaron paused for a moment. 'I also understand that you and your husband saw Harry's inherited trait as a defect of character and proceeded to mistreat him in an effort to try and "correct" it?'

'Neither of us wanted anything to do with that sort of freakishness,' she growled, face so pale, her lips were bloodless.

'Someone ought to have rung DCFS on his behalf,' Aaron countered coldly. 'Tell me about the pig's tail.'

'One of _them_ tried to turn Dudley into a pig,' Petunia said quietly. 'Harry brought nothing but trouble and destruction to this house. I was glad to see him go. To see him leave and take his abnormality with him. _They_ always picked on Dudley. Left sweets on the floor that made his tongue swell and nearly killed him. Set monsters on Dudley. That's what turned him, you know,' she added casually. 'He was quite normal before. It was after those _things_ tried to suck out his soul that he became like you.'

'Where is Hogwarts?'

'I don't know. _They_ won't tell us. All I know is that it's somewhere in the north.'

'They leave from King's Cross. On September first,' Aaron stated. 'At eleven o'clock.'

'Did Dudley tell you that?'

'No. I saw several families come into the station. I'm supposed to be in Brixton, you see. I usually never have to use King's Cross during the day, and I saw children with owls in cages or cats that weren't in crates or baskets. It seemed a bit out of place. Then several of their parents reappeared from the middle of nowhere. So I started putting two and two together.' Aaron inhaled deeply, nose twitching from the strong odor of disinfectant in the house. 'So magic exists…'

'It does. And it's evil to its core.'

Aaron hesitated. Dudley didn't speak of Harry as if he were evil. And what he saw in the photographs was quite normal. Even in the moving ones. 'Thank you for your time.' He opened the door and left, planning his next move on the journey back to Barkingside.

XxXxXxX

Aaron lurked on the pavement at the edge of Parkhill Junior School. Dudley hunkered on the ground in the playground with a small boy, who was nearly dwarfed next to Dudley's bulk. Dudley was lining up a row of pebbles. 'Go on, Ibie,' he said.

Ibie's small finger lightly touched each pebble in turn. 'One, two three, four, five…' he chanted.

Dudley produced a box of chalk from the depths of his bag and began to sketch the numbers on the paved portion of the playground, the offered the chalk to Ibie. 'Just trace it. It doesn't have to be perfect.'

Ibie's small, pink tongue protruded from between his teeth as he carefully ran the chalk of the number one, then slowly followed the lines of the two. 'Ibie!' A young woman ran up to the gates, a bright blue scarf wrapped around her head. 'I am terribly sorry, Mr. Dursley,' she gasped. 'I lost track of time.'

'It's all right, Mrs. Khalid,' Dudley replied, rising to his feet, and dusting off the knees of his trousers. 'Ibie and I were just reviewing some numbers.'

'Look, Mum!' Ibie squatted next to the row of pebbles. 'One, two, three, four, five!' he crowed triumphantly.

'That's marvelous, darling,' Mrs. Khalid murmured.

'You know, Mrs. Khalid,' Dudley began, 'I would be more than happy to offer extra tutoring to Ibie after school. You can sit in with us, if you like, or I can have another teach come in.'

Aaron winced at Dudley's offer. It wasn't the offer to assist Ibie with his class work, it was the need Dudley felt to offer to have another teacher sit in the room, so as to remove any suspicion.

'Thank you. You're very kind. Ibie…' She shook her head.

Dudley busied himself with putting the chalk away. Ibie happened to have moderate dyslexia, and hadn't had a very good term the year before. 'It can be up to Ibie, and you and his father, of course,' he said. 'But Ibie could use a little one-on-one attention.' He shouldered the bag. 'Just something to consider.'

'We'll think about it,' Mrs. Khalid said, after a long moment adjusting Ibie's knapsack. 'Come, Ibie.'

Ibie waved vigorously to Dudley. 'Bye, Mr. Dursley! See you tomorrow!' Ibie skipped after his mother, as she exited through the school's gate. Dudley smiled and returned Ibie's wave as he followed them out of the gate.

Aaron stepped in front of Dudley. 'Hiya.'

Dudley's eyes closed briefly. 'Why are you here?'

'We need to talk.'

'You're six weeks too late,' Dudley sighed. He maneuvered around Aaron and proceeded to walk down the pavement.

'Dudley, wait!'

Dudley stopped and spun around. 'I may not be clever like you, but even I know when someone doesn't believe me. You don't believe a word I said. And then to tell me you're going to ring and I don't hear a peep from you for over a month? I deserve better than that.'

'I believe you.'

'You're just saying that.'

'I saw some of them leaving for school today from King's Cross,' Aaron said in a beseeching tone. 'You asked me to believe in something I thought didn't exist. Never mind whether it's as horrible as your mother would make it out to be.'

Dudley's face creased in a frown. 'What does my mother have to do with this?'

'I went to see her this morning after watching child and after child wind their way through to Platform Nine. With owls in cages. And then they were just gone. Nobody just disappears in King's Cross. Especially when one is pushing a luggage trolley with an owl on it. That stands out quite a bit.'

'My mother spoke to you about…' Dudley paused then mouthed the word "magic". He was beyond shocked that Petunia would even think about magic.

Aaron grinned, a ruthless light coming into his eyes. 'I hardly gave her a choice. I threatened to start shouting about it if she didn't let me in and give me some honest answers.

'She would have hated that.'

'Actually, forcing her to talk was mere icing on my fairy cake,' Aaron told him, slipping his hands into the pockets of his trousers. 'Just the way she reacted when I asked about the school was enough. And she tried to get away with telling me some guff about a school that doesn't exist anywhere in Britain.'

Dudley loosened the knot of his tie and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt. 'Well, now you know.' He resumed his journey to his flat, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder, but wondering if Aaron was going to pursue him all the same. The mobile tucked into his bag began to ring shrilly and he dug it out of a small pocket on the side. One brow rose slightly at the sight of Aaron's number flashing on the screen. Not breaking stride, he hit the button to answer the call and, in a bored tone, said, 'Hello?'

'You wanted to know why I didn't ring you,' Aaron said without any sort of greeting.

'Yeah.'

'I ought to have rung. Or something. It was rude of me to leave you hanging like that.'

'Yes, it was.'

'I needed some time to try and wrap my head around that.'

'You thought I was unstable,' Dudley corrected. 'That's why I didn't want to tell you. I can't lie about it, you see. I used to. All the time. And then, one day, I couldn't lie anymore. It was after I received that first photograph of Harry, Ginny, and James. And if I lied about what happened to me, I wasn't any better than my parents. Always trying to hide Harry away because he could do something the rest of us couldn't. And after he left us for good, I promised I'd do better by him.' His breath hitched in his throat. 'And I couldn't lie to you.'

Aaron could see Dudley stop at an intersection, and pinch the bridge of his nose. 'I'm sorry,' he said quietly. 'I didn't mean to drop off the face of the earth like I did.'

'So where does that leave us?' Dudley asked, keeping his face turned away. 'You didn't trust me…'

Aaron heavily blew out a breath. 'I did. I do. It just sounded…'

'It sounded like I was making things up,' Dudley finished for him. He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. 'I need to think about this.' He disconnected the call and disappeared into Clayhall Park.

XxXxXxX

A/N: DCSF stands for Department for Children, Schools, and Families.


	4. Absolution

Aaron slipped into the synagogue in Knightsbridge, exhaling slowly as he entered the sanctuary. He scanned the assembled congregants, looking for his parents. Normally he attended services at a synagogue in Barkingside, but for the High Holy Days he came here. He considered it his second home of a sort. His naming ceremony had been performed here, just days after his _bris_. He'd attended Saturday morning learning programs since before he could walk. He had become a _bar mitzvah _here, presented with his grandfather's _tallit_. Everyone knew him by sight, if not more familiarly. He could hardly come to a service without being reminded by several matronly women that they had changed his nappies on more than one occasion. And when he had come out to the world at large, not a single one of them minded. They merely asked him when he was going to give his parents grandchildren. Aaron found David's mane of silvery hair and threaded his way to him. He slid into the seat next to David and unzipped the small velvet bag that held his tallit. 'Where's Mum?' he asked shaking out the length of white silk, gone ivory with age. He quickly muttered the blessing embroidered on the neck of the prayer shawl and impulsively held it to his nose. Despite his grandfather's passing nearly twenty years ago, traces of his scent still lingered in its folds. Aaron swirled it over his head, letting it settle for a moment, briefly tenting him in the voluminous ripples of silk, then gently pulled it down, arranging it in folds over his shoulders.

'Your mother?' David waved a hand vaguely in the direction of a cluster of women. 'Somewhere in there…' He swiveled in his chair, watching Aaron arrange the _tallit_ over his shoulders. 'You've looked better,' he observed.

'Thanks,' Aaron muttered, leafing through his prayer book.

'You haven't mentioned your friend, Dudley, lately.'

Aaron's fingers tightened on the page, making it crinkle loudly. 'We've had a disagreement.'

'Anything you'd like to share?' David asked mildly.

Aaron sighed heavily. 'Let's just say if Mum knew she'd smack me like I was ten, and sneaking biscuits before dinner.'

'That bad, hm?'

'Worse, actually. I was quite rude.'

David stared at his youngest son. 'What did you do, if you don't mind me asking?'

Aaron's mouth quirked slightly. 'I asked him about this scar he has, and when he told me how he got it, I… I didn't believe him. And told him as much.' He chuckled sardonically. 'And what's even worse, in the end, none of it matters.'

David leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. 'Did you attempt to make amends?'

'Of course I did!'

David narrowed his dark eyes and pierced Aaron with his gaze. 'Did you mean it?'

'Dad…'

David tapped his closed prayer book on his knee. 'You have to mean it, Aaron,' he said, using the Hebrew pronunciation of his son's name, as he had when Aaron was a young boy and done something foolish. 'Not to mention you must give it your best effort. If you can honestly say you did, then you're absolved. If not…' He tilted Aaron's head up by the chin. 'You should know that. Some things aren't mere words you say to feel virtuous.'

'It's probably too late,' Aaron argued.

'It's never too late to ask for forgiveness,' David admonished. He turned his gaze to the windows. 'And you have until tomorrow at sundown, my boy. Make good use of your time.'

XxXxXxX

Dudley paced his small flat with the intensity of a caged tiger. He stalked into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator door, and stared into the depths, with a grunt of dissatisfaction. He wanted cakes, sweets, fizzy drinks, but all he had were grapes, apples, and a few shriveled oranges. He could feel the smooth, sweet creaminess of an ice cream sundae on his tongue. He flung the door closed, and stomped back into the sitting room. Dudley suddenly spun and lunged back into then kitchen and rummaged through a drawer, unearthing the bar of chocolate Aaron had brought in April. He'd put it there, reasoning that it would be a waste to just throw it away. Besides, a guest might want something sweet. Besides, it was _excellent_ chocolate. He broke off one square, and stuffed it into his mouth, nearly moaning as the chocolate melted in his mouth. Another square quickly followed, and then another. Before Dudley knew what happened, his cheeks distended with half-eaten chocolate. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the window over the sink and a shudder ran through his body. A smear of chocolate traced over his lower lip, his eyes bulged. For a brief moment, Dudley could see his fourteen year-old self – too fat to be believed. He spit the chocolate into the dustbin, then rinsed his mouth from the tap and spat repeatedly. Food wasn't going to solve anything. It never had. In spite of the lateness of the hour, he grabbed his trainers and left the flat to try and outrun his frustrations. Dudley plopped on the stoop of the building and shoved his feet into the trainers and yanked the laces tightly, tying them into a savage knot. He began to walk rapidly down the pavement, his pace quickening until he broke into a run, darting around the people milling in front of the shop windows.

Dudley was unable to maintain the frantic sprint for more than a quarter of a mile. He stumbled to a walk, and then halted, leaning against the wall of a building. His breath sounded harsh in his ears, but it wasn't enough to block the memories of the past several years. When he was young he'd been so certain his parents loved him. They'd given him everything he'd wanted, hadn't they? Everything he wanted, but nothing he _needed_, like boundaries or limits. He hadn't learned compassion or kindness from them. Those had been hard-won lessons learned the year in hiding and when he was able to move away from Privet Drive and started university. He'd forced himself to make a conscious effort to make friends with attitudes on the opposite side of the spectrum from his parents. In fact, he had deliberately sought out friendships that bore little resemblance to his childhood relationships. Now, he rarely took the lead in relationships. If his father had known, Vernon would have called him timid at best and a sissy at worst. _Actually_, Dudley thought wryly, _he'd call me worse now…_

Scrubbing his hands through his hair and over his face, Dudley pushed himself off the wall and struck off in the direction of his flat. He meandered down the pavement fishing for the key to his flat. So engrossed was he in his task, he nearly stepped on Aaron, patiently waiting on the stoop of his building. Aaron looked up wearily. 'Hiya…'

'Hi…'

Aaron hauled himself to his feet, swaying slightly. 'Can I come in for a bit?'

Dudley scrutinized Aaron closely. 'Are you ill?' he asked, noting Aaron's pale skin and the lines of exhaustion around his eyes and mouth.

'No. I'm just sort of hungry…' A loud rumble emanated from Aaron's middle, belying his statement. 'All right. A lot hungry.' He gestured toward the door. 'Could I come in?' he repeated.

Flustered, Dudley crammed the key into the lock. 'Yeah…'

'I won't stay long,' Aaron assured him. 'I know you've got work tomorrow. I just have something I need to say.' He trailed woozily after Dudley into the flat, stumbling slightly as he crossed the threshold. He reached out to steady himself and grasped Dudley's arm tightly.

'You don't look well,' Dudley began.

Aaron sighed and glanced at his watch. 'I haven't eaten since last night, and I could use some water,' he hinted hopefully.

Dudley shut the door and walked into the kitchen, returning with two bottles of water in one hand and an apple in the other. He handed the apple and one bottle to Aaron, opening the other and taking a long pull while he indicated a chair. 'So you were saying?'

Aaron bit gratefully into the apple, taking a near savage pleasure in the tart rasp of the juice explode on his tongue. 'Thank you,' he said, once he had swallowed the initial bite. He sank into the chair and set the bottle of water next to his feet. 'I was wrong,' he said simply. 'I was wrong. You never gave me a reason to doubt you about anything. And I did not give you so much as the benefit of the doubt. I made you feel terrible about revealing something that's obviously a secret that you've never felt comfortable telling anybody. I treated you no better than your parents. I have to trust you. And I do trust you.' Aaron looked down at the apple cradled in his hand and took a hasty bite, as if to cover his sudden confusion.

'I see,' Dudley murmured slowly.

'You don't have to forgive me,' Aaron continued thickly. 'But I really wish you'd try…'

Dudley felt his face flush and a retort rose to his lips, coating his tongue with the bitter tang of anger. He allowed himself the luxury of feeling it pound in time with his pulse. 'Like you tried to believe me?' he spat.

Aaron blinked and nodded slightly. 'You're right,' he said quietly. 'You're absolutely right. But you had to wonder how it would appear to someone who hadn't been exposed to magic before, no?'

Dudley fiddled with the cap of his water bottle. 'Of course I did,' he muttered. 'I know it makes me sound like a nutter.'

Aaron shrugged. 'Most people I know consider it nonsense, but there's a long tradition of Jewish mystics,' he said, sipping his own water. 'You could even say they performed magic. All in the name of God, naturally, but it was only a select few,' he added. 'Magic wasn't considered inherently evil, but in the wrong hands, it could be capable or wrecking havoc on a community.'

Dudley recalled how his own family's life had been horribly upended due to magic being practiced by the "wrong hands" and shuddered. 'Yeah…'

Aaron rubbed his palms over the knees of his trousers. 'There are dozens of things I should have done, but I can't go back in time and change that. What happens next is up to you.' He pushed himself to his feet and smoothed his suit jacket. 'I just want you to know, regardless of what you do decide, I was wrong to have treated you so callously. One ought not to do that to a person the care for. I am truly sorry my actions caused you such pain. I hope you can find it within you to forgive me.' Aaron leaned forward entreatingly. He crossed the small room, and bent over Dudley's seat, then lightly kissed him.

Dudley reached up and gently traced the line of Aaron's jaw. 'Good night,' he murmured.

Aaron exhaled slowly. 'Good night,' he responded, fervently praying that he hadn't heard a permanent farewell.

XxXxXxX

Exams were piled on Dudley's scrap of a kitchen table and a red pen dangled from his fingers, but he stared at the window, transfixed by the curtains billowing in the unseasonably warm breeze. A stray shaft of honeyed sunlight trickled through the open window, beckoning, entreating him to come outside. It _was_ London after all. One didn't take perfectly gorgeous days like this for granted. With a huff of resolution, Dudley attempted to return his focus back to the exams. He fished for a sheet of small smiley faced sticker and affixed one to the top of the exam he'd just marked, transferred it to the bottom of the pile, then picked up the pen once more. He scanned the answers, scribbled in smudged pencil, marked a handful as wrong, wrote the grade at the top, and tucked it behind the last. He tilted his left wrist and studied the face of his watch. It was well after three in the afternoon, and he'd spent the better part of the last six hours marking the previous Friday's exams. Dudley flipped through the remaining papers, counting under his breath. Eight more. He could finish eight more papers before four and have plenty of time for a run before the sun set. 'Right, get on with it, then,' he told himself sternly. Fortunately, after the first dozen or so papers, he was able to devote a significant portion of his attention to other matters.

Like Aaron.

Dudley had badly wanted to believe Aaron when he'd apologized last Thursday evening. But something had held him back. Pride, perhaps. Not wanting to appear pitifully grateful someone wanted to spend time with him. Or a perverse desire to make Aaron stew, just as he'd made Dudley do since July.

'Sod it,' Dudley muttered, throwing the pen to the table. 'The exams can wait an hour or two,' he declared to the empty flat, giving in to the temptation that awaited him outside. He hurriedly changed into a pair of somewhat baggy shorts and a t-shirt, hopping on one foot as he pulled on one trainer, then the other over his feet. He paused long enough to tuck the key to his flat in one pocket, and as had become his habit since April, his mobile in the other. With the eagerness of a child, Dudley tumbled into the embrace of the warm autumn sunshine.

He jogged slowly and aimlessly, just enjoying the feel of the sun on his skin, meandering his way to Clayhill Park. Once inside, he paused uncertainly, wondering which way to turn. If he veered right, he'd eventually end up near the football pitches. And on a day like today, Aaron was sure to be playing with his friends. Or he could make things easy and turn left. Left was mercifully free of messy entanglements. 'I beg your pardon,' a middle-aged motherly sort said brightly. 'But are you lost?'

'What?' Dudley shook himself from his reverie. 'No. Thank you.'

'All right, then,' she said, satisfied at completing her neighborly deed for the day before bellowing, 'Ethan! It's time to go home, luv!'

Dudley grimaced at the woman's ear-splitting yelp, and out of habit, he struck out toward the football pitches, more to escape the sound of her voice, as well as Ethan's piercing protests, than a desire to see if Aaron was there at all. _This is stupid. This is stupid_, ran through his head in a litany, each time his foot hit the ground.

Too soon for Dudley's wavering courage, the football pitches came into sight, and he automatically began to scan the players, looking for Aaron's lean frame near the goal. Dudley felt his shoulders begin to slump along with his heart when he realized Aaron didn't occupy his usual spot in the net. _Well, I guess you've gone and cocked this up, too,_ he thought savagely to himself. _Surely you didn't expect him to wait for you like a bloody spaniel?_ Feeling the recurrent loathing arise with a wave of nausea, Dudley's head ducked and he pivoted, intending to return home when his shoulders collided painfully with something hard, warm, and most decidedly alive.

The person he'd nearly run down clutched at his arms, flailing to regain his balance. 'We have got to stop meeting like this,' a familiar voice drawled. 'One of us is going to get seriously hurt.'

Dudley lifted his head at the sound, his heart soaring into his throat. 'I was wondering,' he said hoarsely, 'if you'd like to get a cup of coffee? Or something…'

Aaron shifted the strap of his bag over his shoulder and rubbed a palm over his bristly jaw. 'Well, I had plans…'

Dudley's sudden lift in spirits deflated as quickly as it had arrived. 'Some other time, then.' He took a quick step back and hoped he could get away without embarrassing himself even further than he already had.

'Oi! Aaron! C'mon, mate! Are you in or not?' yelled Brenden, one of Aaron's friends from the edge of the pitch. 'Colin's making a pig's ear out of the match!' Aaron could see Colin gave Brenden an extremely rude gesture. His eyes swiveled to Dudley, who was attempting to retreat in what Dudley clearly hoped was an inconspicuous manner.

'Sorry, Brenden! Out! See you next Sunday, yeah?' Aaron closed the gap between Dudley and himself in a few quick strides. 'If you'd let me finish, I would have said, I had plans to play a little footie, then go home to a mountain of brisket my mum sent home with me Friday night. She sends her regards, by the way. So, Dudley, I would love nothing more than to have a cup of coffee – or something – with you.' He held out his hand, and Dudley reached for it, twining his fingers through Aaron's. 'So is Carrie's place all right with you?'

Dudley coughed slightly, blushing furiously. 'Actually, I was thinking perhaps _your_ place. He gulped and he quickly added, 'Or not.'

'Why? You've got some other odd scars you'd like me to see?' Aaron suggested, with a knowing arch to his brow.

'Well, no. I was hoping you had a few,' Dudley shot back, then clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes round with shock. 'I've never said anything like that before,' he whispered, coming to a complete stop.

Aaron tugged at Dudley's hand, chuckling. 'You ought to say things like that more often. To me.'

Dudley scuffed the toe of one of his trainers through the grass and nodded. 'Thank you,' he blurted.

'Whatever for?' Aaron asked, resuming the walk to the entrance of the park.

'For believing me. For this…'

'Don't do that,' Aaron said a bit more sharply than he had intended. 'I don't deserve your gratitude for believing something that's merely the truth, especially not after the way I bungled it up. And I'm taking you home with me, because I _want_ to. Nothing I've ever done with you or for you has been out of a sense of pity. All right?' Aaron tilted Dudley's chin up a bit until he could meet his eyes. 'I love you. I meant it the first time I said it. I mean it even more now, because I know what I could lose. I love you.'

They left the park, and joined the teeming crowds on the pavement, soaking up what was sure to be the last bit of summer, moving imperceptibly toward one another until their arms brushed together. They said nothing more, but every so often, one would turn to the other, and a fleeting, shy smile would land on the corners of their mouths.

They had almost reached Aaron's house when Dudley said something so softly, Aaron had to strain to hear it, but reveled in it all the same, knowing how hard-fought the battle had been to even want to say it.

'I love you, too…'

XxXxXxX

A/N: _Bris_ is the ceremony where an eight-day old Jewish boy is circumcised. There's usually a party afterward.

_Tallit_ (or _tallis_) is prayer shawl worn traditionally by Jewish males over the age of 13, usually received on their bar mitzvah. Although, now in some of the more liberal congregations, women wear them and girls receive theirs during their bat mitzvah. It's a long rectangle of cloth with fringes on all four corners, and on the short ends. It can be made of cotton, polyester, or silk. Mine is cream-colored raw silk with variegated shades of blue silk stripes, and appropriately enough, birds appliquéd on each corner, and on the top edge (or collar, if you will). I had my bat mitzvah 2 years ago as an adult. Not an easy task to undertake as a child, much less an adult with a full time job, commitments, and no mother standing over me to study every night… lol! Note - both spellings are correct, it depends on if you're using the Ashkenazi (Eastern European) or Sephardic (Southern European/Mediterranean) dialect of Hebrew.

_Bar/bat mitzvah_ most of you have probably heard of this. It's where a thirteen year old boy or girl is called up to read from the Torah and lead all or some of the service. My Hebrew teacher and I referred to it as being on the Holodeck of the Enterprise. You could know everything perfectly, but when 250 of your closest friends and family are there, that prayer you knew like the back of your hand, suddenly disappears. The upshot of being a bar or bat mitzvah is that this thirteen year old kid is considered an adult under the laws of Judaism – they are morally responsible for their actions and are eligible to do anything within the precepts of Judaism an adult can do. And yes, there's usually a party afterward. Some are quite lavish, while others are more modest affairs.


	5. Heart Of the Matter

Dudley picked up each framed photograph that stood in a crowded row on his mantle, wrapping each one carefully in several layers of newspaper. He stowed each one in a box, taking care to wedge them in firmly, lest they shift during the move. The piles of boxes were a testament to the amount of time that had passed since the day he'd first moved in. 'Where does all this rubbish come from?' he wondered aloud.

Aaron wrapped a china teapot in newspaper and set it in a smaller box. 'I think it just shows up bit by bit. Rather like driftwood at the beach. It accumulates over time.'

Dudley managed a wan smile and closed the box over the photographs. There wasn't much left in the flat. Most of his mis-matched furniture had been donated to Oxfam. The lorry had come the day before to cart it away, leaving only a pair of battered folding chairs for sitting. 'I didn't think I had this much,' he sighed.

Aaron set down a hideous china shepherdess that had been a gift from Petunia as close to the edge of a sealed box as he dared, hoping it would tip over and smash into pieces, and walked to stand next to Dudley. 'Moving into my place is logical,' he reminded him. 'It didn't make sense for you to keep this flat, while you spent most of your time at mine.'

Dudley exhaled gustily. 'I know, but…' he began, unsure of the words needed to describe how he felt. The flat had been an escape hatch of sorts. He knew if things didn't work out with Aaron, he always had a home where he could return. He leaned his head against Aaron's for a moment, then reached to retrieve the sealing tape sitting on top of a stack of boxes. He bent to his work; unable to help thinking it was the end of a personal era. 'I grew up here,' Dudley mused, as he ran a strip of tape across the flaps of a carton to seal it.

Aaron looked up from the pile of newspapers he had crumpled into balls and was in the process of stuffing them into the empty spaces in a box of knickknacks. 'Hm?'

Dudley uncapped a marker and scrawled "photos" across the top of the box. 'It was my first real home after I moved out of my parents' house and finished school,' he explained. 'I got to figure out who I was, and not who I was to other people.' He lifted the box and set it on top of a stack of similarly sized ones, glancing around the room. Most of his belongings were packed away, stripping the room of any signs of his personality. He rubbed a hand over his forehead, leaving a smudge of dirt behind. 'And I got to do this all on my own, without my parents' influence.'

'Thank God for small mercies,' Aaron muttered, grabbing the roll of tape and sealing the box before he labeled it as well.

'D'you want some tea?' Dudley asked in a slightly vague manner, somewhat lost in his own thoughts. Without waiting for an answer, he filled his kettle, and plugged it in. 'I left out some teabags,' he added, rummaging in the one cupboard that still held a few odds and ends for tea or a light meal. He set the two mugs that hadn't been packed yet next to the kettle and tossed the box of teabags next to them. 'No milk, though.'

'I can drink tea without milk,' Aaron told him, stretching his knotted back muscles by bending over and placing his palms on the floor between the toes of his trainers. He didn't add that the skimmed milk Dudley preferred barely qualified as milk in his opinion. And the less said about the time Dudley tried to pass off soymilk as regular milk, the better as far as Aaron was concerned. It was best if they just forgot about that incident all together. 'What time did you say the movers were coming?'

Dudley poured boiling water over the teabags he'd put into each much. 'Nine tomorrow morning.' Aaron nodded and added a generous dollop of honey to his tea, then continued to pack.

Dudley took his mug and drifted to the window that overlooked the small garden behind the building. Unconsciously, he pulled his mobile from the back pocket of his jeans and gave the screen a cursory glance. In the year since he'd come out to his parents, he was _persona non grata_ at their house for the most part. Given the importance his parents attached to appearances, he had been offered stiff, barely polite invitations for Christmas and Easter dinners, which he had dutifully attended, without Aaron. Both events had been terrible, to say the least. Stilted conversation ruled the day, punctuated by Petunia ostentatiously excusing herself from the room while she sniffled into a delicate lacy handkerchief. She could be heard noisily sobbing in the kitchen, much to Dudley's dismay. It made Vernon's face change colors into a mottled puce. Vernon never once looked at him in the face, keeping his eyes trained on the knot in Dudley's tie or directing his attention to Petunia. Both times, Dudley had deliberately emptied his refrigerator before leaving for Little Whinging, lest he be tempted to fall into his old habits of eating to soothe his hurt feelings. He'd come home feeling sick and gutted, immediately donned his trainers and tracksuit bottoms, running until he was gasping for breath and his knees were wobbly. After the Easter dinner, Aaron had acerbically remarked that perhaps Dudley was merely transferring his food issues to exercise. Dudley had brushed off Aaron's concerns. After all, wasn't exercise a great deal better for him than food?

'What are you doing?' Aaron asked, jarring Dudley from his reverie. Tea sloshed over the side of his mug and splattered over his t-shirt. Dudley set the mug on the windowsill and brushed impatiently at the liquid.

'Nothing,' he replied, sliding the mobile back into his pocket.

Aaron snorted. 'You're hoping they'll ring you, aren't you?' he asked evenly, taking care to keep the accusatory tone from his voice.

'No, I'm not,' Dudley retorted, gulping his tea and scalding his tongue in the process.

'Liar,' Aaron responded without heat.

'So what if I want them to?' Dudley muttered, clomping into the kitchen to check that all the cupboards and drawers were empty.

Aaron dropped a stack of paperbacked novels into a box and grabbed Dudley's arm, shaking it. 'If you want them to ring you, that's your business. I just don't see why you would want them to. Not after they way they've treated you.'

'Is is so wrong to want my bloody parents to ring on my birthday?' Dudley huffed, slamming a door shut.

'Of course not,' Aaron soothed. 'But perhaps getting your hopes up isn't the best idea.' Dudley's eyes narrowed and the line between his brows deepened considerably. 'And your birthday's not for a couple more days. Knowing your mother, she's going to ring you, very correctly, on that day and not a moment sooner,' he offered.

Dudley's shoulders slumped. 'Yeah.'

'She'll ring,' Aaron predicted, wedging another stack of books into the box. 'She is your mother. Even if she has to do it on the sly while your father's at work.'

Dudley pulled open a drawer and peered inside, shaking his head. 'Yeah, my mum's not exactly the type to skulk around doing things behind Dad's back like that.'

Aaron applied a strip of tape to the box and glanced around the room. 'I think that's everything.' His gaze lit on a door in the wall. He had never seen Dudley use that cupboard before. Then again, the door might be a vestige from when the building had been a house in a previous era, before it had been converted into a handful of oddly shaped flats. He knew that the staircase leading to the first floor had been walled off, and this cupboard was underneath the stairs themselves. 'Unless there's something in here we've missed,' he said over his shoulder and opened the door to the cupboard under the stairs. Dudley's hand shot over Aaron's shoulder and he slammed it shut.

'No! I – I mean, I've never used it,' he stammered. 'There's nothing there.'

Aaron examined Dudley closely. He was pale, with two bright red spots over his cheeks; sweat dotting his upper lip, glistening in the blonde stubble. 'If you're sure,' he said slowly.

'I'm sure.'

At that moment, Dudley's mobile began to ring shrilly. He snatched it from his pocket, gaping at the number displayed on the screen for a moment before shakily answering. 'Y-yes?'

'Is this Dudley Dursley?' a strange woman's voice asked.

'Erm. Yes,' he replied cautiously.

'Oh, good,' the woman said with palpable relief. 'This is Cassandra Heatherington, your parents' neighbor from next-door,' she explained. 'I'm afraid I've had to do a bit of snooping, but your mother's address book was next to the telephone in the kitchen, and someone called Marge didn't answer.'

'Has something happened?' Dudley interrupted, feeling his hands grow cold.

'Oh! Right.' Cassandra took a deep breath. 'Your father's had a bit of an accident, it seems. He's been taken to hospital, you see. He was doing something or other in the front garden and collapsed. My husband, Hugh, saw it. Said Mr. Dursley went right purple in the face.'

'Mmm-hmm.' Dudley wondered how you could tell the difference between Vernon's normal face color and purple.

'Hugh was marvelous. Did chest compressions, he did, until the ambulance arrived,' Cassandra nattered on. 'Your mother followed the ambulance in their car. Poor thing was a mite frantic. I said I'd lock up the house. I thought I'd just ring up a family member, in case your mother quite forgot. It does rather look like she's in for a long night, you see.'

'I'm sorry, have we met?' Dudley asked, his lips feeling strangely numb.

'No, we haven't been properly introduced. I've seen you at your parent's house, although not much lately. Your mother used to talk my ear off about you.'

'Well, thank you for ringing,' Dudley told her, anxious to end the call. 'I'll just go and ring my mum now,' he said in a rush before pressing the button that severed the connection. The mobile dropped from his nerveless fingers and clattered to the wooden floor.

'Dudley?' Aaron's voice sounded as if it came from the far end of a tunnel. 'Dudley? Whatever is the matter?' Aaron grabbed Dudley's shoulder and shook it roughly. 'Bloody hell, man, say something!'

Dudley blinked slowly. 'My father,' he croaked. 'Ill. In hospital.'

Aaron bent to retrieve Dudley's mobile, checking it to see if the screen had cracked or shattered. It was whole, so he checked the recent calls list. 'Your mother rang you?' he asked incredulously.

'No. It was a neighbor.' Dudley began to shake. 'I must ring Mum,' he said.

Aaron's mouth twisted slightly and found himself wanting to ask why Dudley bothered, but he held his tongue and handed the mobile to him and looped an around Dudley's waist.

Dudley entered Petunia's mobile number and began to pace restlessly around the perimeter of the sitting room. 'Mum?' he blurted when she answered.

Petunia promptly burst into tears. 'Dudley… Oh, my darling Dudley!'

'Your neighbor telephoned me,' he began. 'Cassandra something or other.'

'Dudley, you must come,' Petunia implored, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief. 'I cannot cope with this.'

Dudley dropped into one of the folding chairs, making it creak loudly. 'Are you sure you want me?'

'Of course I do!' Petunia cried. 'I need you to come sit with me. It's something to do with his heart. I can't make heads or tails of what these doctors say,' she said peevishly.

'I'll be there as soon as I can,' Dudley promised. He looked up at Aaron. 'I have to go to Little Whinging. I can't just leave her alone.'

'Even after the way they've treated you?'

Dudley shrugged. 'They're my parents,' he said helplessly.

Aaron reached over and rubbed at the smudge on Dudley's forehead. 'Very well,' he sighed. 'I can't fault you for that. Go have a wash. Get the dust off at least and comb your hair. Don't want to give your mother the vapors.'

Dudley smiled wanly. 'Thanks…' He stumbled into the bathroom and splashed cold water over his face. He gazed at his reflection in the mirror, eyes wide and staring, water dripping from his nose and chin. He began to laugh uncontrollably. All the face cloths and towels had been packed and there wasn't one to dry his face and hands.

'Here.' Aaron held out a ragged tea towel. It had once been part of a hideous mustard-yellow set Marge had given him when Dudley moved into the flat. 'I found it in the back of a cupboard.' Dudley gave him a grateful look, then rubbed his face dry. He ran water over his hands and ran them through his hair, dampening it, then carelessly dried his hands on the towel. He briskly ran it over his arms and the back of his neck, then quickly combed his hair.

'I'll let you know how things are going,' Dudley told Aaron. He swiftly kissed Aaron, then darted from the flat, and dove into his car. He sped off, navigating London traffic, hoping to make it to Little Whinging before it was too late. Too late for what, Dudley didn't want to imagine.

XxXxXxX

'You look ghastly,' Petunia complained.

Dudley stretched his feet out in front of him, slouching in the hard, plastic chair. 'I've told you, Mum, that I was packing up my flat. I'm moving tomorrow.' He tilted his head to one side, then the other, in a futile attempt to alleviate the tension knotting his neck muscles. He ran a hand through his hair, ignoring the disapproving sniff from his mother, and checked his watch for what seemed the thousandth time. 'How long did they say this would take?'

Petunia's lips compressed and the lines bracketing her mouth deepened. 'A few hours. Perhaps more.'

Dudley nodded and closed his eyes, resting his head on the wall behind him. 'When he's out of surgery, I'll head back to London.'

'You're not returning to London tonight,' Petunia said. 'You can't leave me alone to deal with this.'

Dudley's eyes popped open and he bolted upright. 'Excuse me?'

'You'll come stay with me until your father's been released from here,' Petunia stated.

Dudley blinked several times, his mouth falling open. He felt as stupid as he had at Smeltings. 'Why would I stay with you?' he asked. 'You've made it clear I'm not welcome.'

'Diddydums…' Petunia began weakly. 'Popkin… it's your father.'

A headache blossomed above his left eyebrow. 'Just tonight,' he said.

'But he'll be in this awful place for at least four more days,' Petunia protested.

Dudley got to his feet, squaring his shoulders. 'Mother,' he said quietly, 'I will not upend my life for you or Dad. Not until you can see fit to accept me for who I am. I'm here because Dad is ill and I won't stay a second longer after knowing he'll survive.' He scrubbed his hands over his face. 'Excuse me.'

The storm that had threatened Little Whinging most of the afternoon had broken in the hours since Dudley had arrived at the hospital. Water streaked the windows and splattered against the pavement outside the entrance. Dudley shivered slightly as the recollection of those _things_ that had attacked him when he was fifteen rose in his mind. He resolutely turned his back on the curtains of rain and dialed Aaron's mobile number. 'Hi!' Aaron said. 'How are things?'

Dudley heaved a sigh. 'Another couple of hours. Mum wasn't clear on the details, but they're doing bypass surgery. Two arteries, at least. And Mum wants me to stay until they let Dad go home.'

Aaron opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of wine and pried the cork from the neck. He poured some into a glass and squinted at the level of the liquid in the bowl, then added more. 'Obviously, that's a problem.'

'I really don't even want to be here now,' Dudley said. 'I don't even have clothes here.'

Aaron took a sip of the wine and let it slide down his throat. 'I can take care of the clothes,' he murmured.

Dudley started to protest, then his thoughts took a sudden left turn. 'Are you saying I should stay?' he spluttered.

'I'm saying that if the worst happens, you'll want to be there,' Aaron explained. 'I can only tell you if it was me, and my brother Daniel was seriously ill, I would want to be there. I know what it means to have a family member reject you, and this isn't your problem, it's theirs.' He took a long sip of his wine.

'Two days.'

'Fine.' Aaron swirled the wine in his glass, watching the light spark through it. 'Do you want me to meet you at the hospital or shall I leave the bag on your parents' doorstep?'

Dudley felt deflated. He knew Aaron was right, even though he didn't care to admit as much. 'Just leave it at the house,' he said. 'If you come here, Mum'll go into hysterics and I can't deal with it right now.' His head bowed. 'I wish you were here,' he muttered.

'I do, too.' Aaron set the wineglass down on the counter. 'Don't worry about the movers tomorrow. I'll take care of everything.'

'You always do,' Dudley said tiredly. He wondered if there would be a time when he wouldn't need Aaron to swoop in and save the day. 'Make sure you pack my trainers?'

'Wouldn't dream of leaving them out.'

'Thanks. I'll talk to you tomorrow, all right?'

'I hope it all ends well.'

'So do I,' Dudley sighed. 'The sooner it ends, the better.' He glanced up and saw someone in surgical scrubs approaching Petunia. 'I'd better go. Love you,' he added.

'Love you,' Aaron said before disconnecting the call. As much as he'd hated to encourage Dudley to spend more time the absolutely necessary with Petunia and Vernon, he knew if Vernon died and Dudley wasn't there, Dudley would come to regret it one day.

XxXxXxX

Dudley shifted in the narrow bed, watching the filmy curtains billow in the breeze. The storm had blown itself out and nothing remained but the scent of rain on his mother's roses and the cool wind that toyed with his hair. There was nothing more demoralizing than sleeping in his childhood bedroom. It brought back all sorts of unpleasant memories. Of hunger so acute, it gnawed at his belly, until all he could think about was food. Those were times he would have willingly given his left arm for a scoop of cottage cheese with celery. At least he knew his mother loved him when she gave him food. A spasm of guilt threatened to choke him, and Dudley flung himself to his side, facing the window. He could vividly recall those times when Harry had been sentenced to spend days, or weeks, in the cupboard under the stairs and fed barely enough to keep him from actually starving. Dudley was amazed Harry's growth hadn't been stunted. There had been that one incident with the violet pudding after Harry's first year at his school where he'd been confined to his room – the one just next to this one – and fed once a day through the cat flap. After some incident, which Dudley could never quite recall the next summer, his parents had more-or-less ignored Harry until the last day they had gone into hiding.

Dudley threw the sheet off and all but rolled from the narrow bed. He tugged an old sweatshirt over his head and stealthily opened the bedroom door. It was unnaturally quiet in the house without the stentorian tones of his father's snores echoing through the rooms. He carefully made his way down the stairs and padded into the kitchen. He reached for a glass and filled it with water from the tap, gulping it down. In spite of the open windows, the house felt stuffy. Mindful of his mother's penchant for sterile cleanliness, he washed, dried, then replaced the glass in the cupboard. Still feeling restless, he began to wander from room to room, picking up bits of decor, then putting them back down. He found himself standing in the corridor, in front of the cupboard under the stairs. With hands that didn't seem to belong to his body, Dudley opened the door and grasped the string dangling from the bare light bulb overhead and turned it on. The small bed was still there, the mattress stripped bare. A forlorn tin soldier tilted drunkenly on a shelf next to a jar of nails. Dudley gingerly maneuvered his body into the confined space and perched uneasily on the edge of the bed.

It was there in that musty nook, the full weight of what had occurred in that house settled on his shoulders. So many adults had failed Harry. His teachers had failed to report any suspected abuse. Surely they had noticed Harry's prolonged absences from school. Had they ignored the bruises and other injuries? The hunger pangs? The broken glasses that never seemed to be repaired? The fact that Dudley had brand-new clothes all the time, while Harry made do with his patched and much-mended castoffs? Clothes that even Oxfam had politely turned down.

Dudley carefully scooted off the bed and started to shut off the light. The toy soldier winked in the light, catching his attention. He plucked it from the shelf and yanked the string, plunging the cupboard into darkness. As he tiptoed back up the stairs, he vowed to one day ask Harry to forgive him.


End file.
